(no subject)
3/12/13 was the first day of the month I didn't go to the gym. I feel guilty about it, but I needed to give my body time to recuperate.
It's around midnight-thirty, I'm sitting at my desk in my boxers. The desk is dirty, like always. There's a fork and knife, a level, three lint rollers, a bunch of tax papers. One of them was is Eche's tax papers he did for me. Gotta send him that $65.
I've been out tonight, playing Pathfinder for the first time since our break-up. It was hard to muster the strength to do it - I have trouble looking people in the face. They can see my weakness, I feel. How hurt I am, deep down. They're my friends, so they wouldn't lash out at me - but I know they know. Like I know.
I haven't seen her. Haven't talked to her in days. It's all I want - morning, noon, and night. Especially at night. She lashed out at me with venom, time after time during this, but never once did I shoot back. Coward. Weak. The only time she thinks I was 'being mean', I was being timid at best. She told me I was a victim, and she saw me as such for most of our relationship.
What a bunch of bullshit.
These are excuses she's telling herself. She loved me with all her heart. She still does somewhere. She told me so. She planned marriage, having a dog. There will never be a time she doesn't see me and feel something.
I want her to walk through the door right now, just so I can ask her if she's alright. She wouldn't text me back if I asked her. It feels so dead right now - but she is too busy, and I need to be also. No more sitting around, wallowing in self-pity.
I haven't had a sip of alcohol. That feels good.
I haven't toked a single bud. That feels good, too.
I woke up this morning and my ceiling literally fell onto me. "The sky is falling!", Chicken Little yelled, somewhere. I yelled "What the fucking fuck!". I hope that somewhere, our responses are being levied against one another, in the great halls of exclamation. One seems much more appropriate.
When they say "When it rains, it pours", what they mean to say is, "When it rains, it's fucking fuck you, you fucking shit", because that's what I feel like everything is yelling at me.
But at least that's motivating. At least it's not the muted channel she is now, to me. I can flip to her in my mind, bright green neon numbers in the upper right corner of my viewfield, and I can see her smiling, and typing her vacuous status updates, and running her miles in the gym - and there's no sound. Not even a heartbeat, where there used to be a symphony. Now it's car horns, and bar music, and heavy breathing, the pound of shoes to pavement.
Who is this person? This shadow who walks and talks in her skin? Looks like her, yes, but is so smug, and cold, and wrong. Not Jazmin, no. Someone else talks through those lips I used to kiss.
---
To be honest though, when I crawl into bed, while thoroughly exhausted, I feel her absence less.
That means I just need to work my ass off.
Everyday.
No more excuses.
It's around midnight-thirty, I'm sitting at my desk in my boxers. The desk is dirty, like always. There's a fork and knife, a level, three lint rollers, a bunch of tax papers. One of them was is Eche's tax papers he did for me. Gotta send him that $65.
I've been out tonight, playing Pathfinder for the first time since our break-up. It was hard to muster the strength to do it - I have trouble looking people in the face. They can see my weakness, I feel. How hurt I am, deep down. They're my friends, so they wouldn't lash out at me - but I know they know. Like I know.
I haven't seen her. Haven't talked to her in days. It's all I want - morning, noon, and night. Especially at night. She lashed out at me with venom, time after time during this, but never once did I shoot back. Coward. Weak. The only time she thinks I was 'being mean', I was being timid at best. She told me I was a victim, and she saw me as such for most of our relationship.
What a bunch of bullshit.
These are excuses she's telling herself. She loved me with all her heart. She still does somewhere. She told me so. She planned marriage, having a dog. There will never be a time she doesn't see me and feel something.
I want her to walk through the door right now, just so I can ask her if she's alright. She wouldn't text me back if I asked her. It feels so dead right now - but she is too busy, and I need to be also. No more sitting around, wallowing in self-pity.
I haven't had a sip of alcohol. That feels good.
I haven't toked a single bud. That feels good, too.
I woke up this morning and my ceiling literally fell onto me. "The sky is falling!", Chicken Little yelled, somewhere. I yelled "What the fucking fuck!". I hope that somewhere, our responses are being levied against one another, in the great halls of exclamation. One seems much more appropriate.
When they say "When it rains, it pours", what they mean to say is, "When it rains, it's fucking fuck you, you fucking shit", because that's what I feel like everything is yelling at me.
But at least that's motivating. At least it's not the muted channel she is now, to me. I can flip to her in my mind, bright green neon numbers in the upper right corner of my viewfield, and I can see her smiling, and typing her vacuous status updates, and running her miles in the gym - and there's no sound. Not even a heartbeat, where there used to be a symphony. Now it's car horns, and bar music, and heavy breathing, the pound of shoes to pavement.
Who is this person? This shadow who walks and talks in her skin? Looks like her, yes, but is so smug, and cold, and wrong. Not Jazmin, no. Someone else talks through those lips I used to kiss.
---
To be honest though, when I crawl into bed, while thoroughly exhausted, I feel her absence less.
That means I just need to work my ass off.
Everyday.
No more excuses.