Why can't I just walk normally?

Calming the Fuck Down

Yesterday was a good day. I felt like an integral part of something, instead of just a piece of something on the outside. It was nice.

I need more of those days. Where our day is planned by me and him and not contingent on someone else’s whims.

Yes it’s a control thing. But its also a respect thing. A sanity thing.

I like writing my own story thank you very much.

A thought.

Don’t let the life you HAD…disrupt the life you HAVE. 

They all hurt. You’d kill.

Breakups hurt. All in a way, some more, some less, some way less. You though…you’d kill. Be proud of that fact. FACT. You. Would. Kill.

Everytime we argue, when we fight, when we have fights like this…I always wonder what it’d be like to lose you.  And even in my depths of despising you, even when I’m in the aftermaths of flipping you the bird like I did this morning after I’ve played Cee-Lo’s ‘Fuck You’ to which you got immediately and laughed, not so much because you thought it was funny, but because you know how I cynically operate…I wonder.

I’ve been cursing a lot the past couple of days. I’m fucking mad at hell.

I feel like I just want to have a total bitchfest with you, but then you come at me in the morning, when I’m trying to just feel ‘good enough’ to go to work this morning, and I completely can’t even focus on what I’d like to say. What I need to say. And then it’s just…me throwing shit. Me slamming doors. Me playing Cee-Lo and flashing my middle finger. Honestly, it kind of makes me feel better though. It gives me that few seconds of ‘Hey Mother Fucker, Fuck you you Fucking Fuck!’ And regardless of how immature it may be, it’s a little bit of a Xanax effect without taking a fucking Xanax. So, there’s that plus side. 

You know, I’ve had my fair share of broken relationships. Some my fault, some not. Most hurt in some way. Most I got over pretty quickly. Not to say that I didn’t feel crappy at the end, but I’m a pretty resilient woman. I operate under the mantra of ‘If it wasn’t meant to be, it shouldn’t be.’ Give me time and space and things tend to get better, I feel better, I move on.  Such is life, right?

Then you. Fucking game-changer. My entire perception on what love and relationships is completely obliterated and reconstructed. I started believing in the term soul mate. Like actually believing that finding that one person who doesn’t complete you so much as they were completely created for you to have a happy existence.  I mean, really?  

I’ve said ‘I love you.’ before.  Meant it a few times. I’ve cared for others. But nothing like this. No one like you. 

It’s killing me to look at the pictures of you that are on the wall of my cubicle. I’m missing you. I’m loving and hating you at the same time. I’m wanting you to see my side of things. I’m wanting you to be what I need you to be. I want you to take me in your arms and scream how much you’d die without me. Narcissistic I know, but I want you to feel as if my leaving you would kill you too.

LOVE/hate.

Tell me that I can’t love you and hate you at the same time.  Go ahead. 

I’ll tell you that I feel so much love for the way you treat my daughter, for the way you’ve made me feel as if this love of ours is the pinnacle of what love should be. I’ll also tell you that you fucked up, and that I am so fucking angry at you right now that I could literally drive my car through the house.

Love and hate. Sometimes it’s all the same.  Right now, I’m hating that I love you. Right now, I wish that I could just have the strength to pack it all up and move to Colorado or somewhere really far from you.  

But. Love. Keeps me here. Keeps me wanting to keep trying. I can’t help that I love you. Can’t help that my happiest moments in my entire life so far have been spent with you. And it makes me so…scared.  I’m scared right now, because all I want is for you to get it.  For you to go, okay, I see your point, I see your side, and I’m on your side.  

Because I hate being not part of you.

Sometimes I just wanna say…

“Fuck this shit.”  

Fuck all of it. Fuck him, fuck his ex-wife, fuck all the people in the world who make me feel uncomfortable. Fuck feeling like I can’t trust. Fuck the girl who calls herself my friend, then acts like a complete douchbag when something worth any amount of happiness happens to me.

I’m tired of this shit.

Truly. 

And more than that, I’m angry.

I’m fucking so angry. I get one night, one. And what happens?  SHIT.

Shit Fucking Happens.

So here I am, resigned to restless nights where it takes me forever to fall asleep, then when I finally do fall asleep, I wake up thrashing and sweating.  Anxiety like a mother-fucker has set in, and all I can do is be angry that there is yet more time wasted. 

Here’s what I need to have happen.  I need to have friends that I can trust, who are happy for me when I have happiness in my life.  I don’t trust the friend who cries and pouts and gets depressed when good things are happening to me.  

I don’t need a friend who will cozy up to the special person in my life, because she’s jealous of what I have with him. 

I need my boyfriend to not encourage her behavior. 

I hate that this person is coming to our home. Staying here with him while I’m out at work.  I don’t trust it.

This is that thing. The creeping suspicions that come in, triggered by a female intuition that has been right so many times before. This is that feeling, that thing. Because I know that all it takes to allow something harmful in, is a crack in the foundation, a tiny sliver of an opening.  That’s all it takes. 

Monumental Bummage

Right now I don’t care about my spelling errors, grammar, or correct word usage.  Okay fine, that’s not entirely accurate, but still…I’m at a very low point this evening.  It’s only tuesday, and yet, here I sulk in my bed, anticipating, waiting, yearning, for this week to be done. 

I shouldn’t even complain.

But shit.

I am complaining.  

I’m complaining because Monday was a headache inducing crapfest where I actually had to defend my past actions. Things that I had done at the age of, what…21, 22?  Yeah, I’ve made my mistakes, but haven’t we all?  Haven’t we all been involved with the wrong person? Broken up with people? Had times of irrational behavior and times of panic?

I’m not perfect. 

Never claimed to be.

And so, Monday is followed by Tuesday.  Hey Tuesday! Fuck you!

Tuesday I was told that I wouldn’t get the one thing I was hoping so desperately to get, the one thing that I felt so CERTAIN I would get! 

And slam. Down to the ground I go.  

Ask me how many tiny bars of chocolate I’ve eaten

Ok, just one. But it was backed with a beer.

Ask me how much I’m looking forward to Wednesday.

Oh right, another day of not only defending myself and the ‘horrific acts of my past’ including (GASP) dating men! (Oh the horror!) but I get to be on guard as I bring the one thing I defend most in this world with me to the Spanish Inquisition. 

Hey Wednesday, FUCK OFF!

You want some of this Thursday? How bout you Friday? You fucking whore. You want some of this shit?