And then it was gone.
You know you're at a private, small liberal arts school when your professors know when you're depressed. Mine do. Filippo said I seemed out of it today in class, which I was, and asked if I was alright. When I told him not really, he rescheduled my conference for me. So I'm meeting with him on Monday. Then I went to my conference with Ernesto, and he and I talked about it. He said if I need him to go with me to Health Services on Tuesday then he would. He wants me to stop by at 1:30 after I go to tell him how it went.
I ache all over.
Dinner with Sam sometime tonight, I think. Hopefully he won't cancel.
Oh, by the way... he and I are just friends now. This is part of the reason for my overwhelming sadness.
I feel like talking to him, but I don't know what to say, really. I want to tell him that the day or two when we were dating were wonderful and I don't want them to not exist anymore. I want to tell him that I want to date him. I want to tell him that I'm trying to get better.
Most of all, though, I want to go back in time. I want to go back and not even tell him about the past, at least not for a few weeks, maybe even months.
I feel like curling up into a little ball and sleeping away the rest of my life. I don't feel like ever waking up again.
But I will go on with my life because it is all I have. I will wake up every morning to a half-empty bed and know in my heart that I am the reason that the bed is half-empty. I will fall asleep every night cuddling a blue fleece-covered body pillow. I will be utterly alone. But I will press on because I have to.
The whole world seems so pointless lately. I don't see the point in doing anything anymore. I'm just going to end up losing anything anyway. Ultimately, there is nothing I can keep forever. Nothing I do will make any difference. I'm just going to die alone. Even if my writing is published and I am recognized for it, my entire existence will still fade away. In the grand scheme of things, I am nothing and worth exactly that.
Why does it matter if I'm attracted to someone? I might as well accept the facts that either they will not be attracted to me or ultimately I'll do something to make me lose them. Why does it matter if I put my heart and soul into everything? I'm just going to screw everything up eventually. Why does it matter if I stuff myself with this rye bread? I'm at the peak of my attractiveness and yet no one really and truly wants to be with me--if they did there would be no stopping them--and anyway I'm going to die eventually so why waste my time watching my weight or carbohydrate intake?
I want to read. I checked out 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' from the library yesterday and read some of it. It was wonderful. I want to read more of it. So I'm going to take these last two pieces of rye bread, stuff them into myself as I walk over to campus, then curl up somewhere and read. Maybe the pillow room, where Winston and I laid together and discussed SLC. Maybe the loft in the pub, where Winston and I took a nap and where my dating relationship with Sam was solidified and then broken in a few short hours of a single sitting. Maybe just in my kitchen, where Winston smoked and Sam ate his big barbecue sandwich. Maybe in my bed, where both of them slept, curled up with me.
Or maybe I'll find a new place to read. And maybe I won't eat my last two pieces of rye bread.
I ache all over.
Dinner with Sam sometime tonight, I think. Hopefully he won't cancel.
Oh, by the way... he and I are just friends now. This is part of the reason for my overwhelming sadness.
I feel like talking to him, but I don't know what to say, really. I want to tell him that the day or two when we were dating were wonderful and I don't want them to not exist anymore. I want to tell him that I want to date him. I want to tell him that I'm trying to get better.
Most of all, though, I want to go back in time. I want to go back and not even tell him about the past, at least not for a few weeks, maybe even months.
I feel like curling up into a little ball and sleeping away the rest of my life. I don't feel like ever waking up again.
But I will go on with my life because it is all I have. I will wake up every morning to a half-empty bed and know in my heart that I am the reason that the bed is half-empty. I will fall asleep every night cuddling a blue fleece-covered body pillow. I will be utterly alone. But I will press on because I have to.
The whole world seems so pointless lately. I don't see the point in doing anything anymore. I'm just going to end up losing anything anyway. Ultimately, there is nothing I can keep forever. Nothing I do will make any difference. I'm just going to die alone. Even if my writing is published and I am recognized for it, my entire existence will still fade away. In the grand scheme of things, I am nothing and worth exactly that.
Why does it matter if I'm attracted to someone? I might as well accept the facts that either they will not be attracted to me or ultimately I'll do something to make me lose them. Why does it matter if I put my heart and soul into everything? I'm just going to screw everything up eventually. Why does it matter if I stuff myself with this rye bread? I'm at the peak of my attractiveness and yet no one really and truly wants to be with me--if they did there would be no stopping them--and anyway I'm going to die eventually so why waste my time watching my weight or carbohydrate intake?
I want to read. I checked out 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' from the library yesterday and read some of it. It was wonderful. I want to read more of it. So I'm going to take these last two pieces of rye bread, stuff them into myself as I walk over to campus, then curl up somewhere and read. Maybe the pillow room, where Winston and I laid together and discussed SLC. Maybe the loft in the pub, where Winston and I took a nap and where my dating relationship with Sam was solidified and then broken in a few short hours of a single sitting. Maybe just in my kitchen, where Winston smoked and Sam ate his big barbecue sandwich. Maybe in my bed, where both of them slept, curled up with me.
Or maybe I'll find a new place to read. And maybe I won't eat my last two pieces of rye bread.