This used to kinda work...
So I was checking out Livejournal for the sake of validating some random piece of gossip or another, when I felt this vague longing to pour my thoughts out to anyone who would bother to read them. Back in the day, this used to get me in trouble which probably has a lot to do with why my last post was like 68 weeks ago. But, I recall LJ posting having such a purging feeling and I could kinda go for that right now. So, here goes...
I woke up at 4:38pm today. I think I fell asleep between 2 and 3 but still, that's kinda excessive. Yesterday was just totally exhausting. It was the first day of classes for my spring semester so I arose with this like squeaky clean new school shoes feeling. Ya know, like "today's the first day of my new life" and oddly enough, I was happy. I usually don't wake up happy nowadays cause it's just like reality is terrible but yesterday I woke up with something like hope and it was so... refreshing. So I started listening to the most empowering Jason Robert Brown I could find and I picked Antonio up and we went to our classes and it was good.
By my third class of the day my squeaky clean new semester feeling had pretty much faded and the fight for my attention began. My mind flooded with though after punishing thought, but I had the idea that if I just kept pretending to feel the way I had earlier maybe eventually I would. And so I smiled. I whistled out of my class. I sauntered to my car. I put on one of my favorite shows and I drove towards one of my favorite people. Then, the dam broke. As Sherie Scott sang about the reality of her feelings the reality of mine began to surface and then there I was, pulled over on the road singing and crying my eyes out.
I can't respect that. My pride and my intellect just loath that person. So there I was crying my eyes out and rejecting myself for being so hurt about being rejected. I respect that even less. So on and on it went, me slowly breaking into smaller and smaller segments of myself all loathing each other and missing him and loathing each other for missing him and loathing him and loathing each other for loathing him when all of them love him and loathing each other for loving him and... I could barely function.
Then I went to therapy.
That kinda helped, so afterward, I was just one hurt lonely Bryce again and I hung out with a few more of my favorite people, to all of whom I felt terribly sorry for exposing to myself at that time. Then, I smoked for the first time in what for me seemed to be a really long time and that didn't help as much as I expected it too. Bummer.
So I woke up today at 4:38pm and I guess I expected it to somehow be easier. Today I would wake up and "think about my needs" and not feel so empty and defective, or at least not feel so fucking tired. But alas, today wasn't much easier, except I had the decency to stay home and stay out of consciousness for a while. I guess I just don't think it's ok for me to have such a strong reaction to the loss of something that barely was, something that was mostly an idea based on the reality of all of nineteen hours maybe. Ok so a little more than that, but still.
What does one do to force themselves to stop feeling this way? Why do I already feel like damaged goods when I have the romantic experience of a toddler? Why am I awake now when I have class in the morning? Question after question fires off over the sound of my mothers slow breathing on the couch next to me. Questions that don't seem to stop unless I'm out cold and even then, they're just replaced with dreams of what was or what was hoped for.
I'm starting to feel like I can't afford to hope. Every time I try to prove myself wrong I hurt worse.
It fucking sucks.
I woke up at 4:38pm today. I think I fell asleep between 2 and 3 but still, that's kinda excessive. Yesterday was just totally exhausting. It was the first day of classes for my spring semester so I arose with this like squeaky clean new school shoes feeling. Ya know, like "today's the first day of my new life" and oddly enough, I was happy. I usually don't wake up happy nowadays cause it's just like reality is terrible but yesterday I woke up with something like hope and it was so... refreshing. So I started listening to the most empowering Jason Robert Brown I could find and I picked Antonio up and we went to our classes and it was good.
By my third class of the day my squeaky clean new semester feeling had pretty much faded and the fight for my attention began. My mind flooded with though after punishing thought, but I had the idea that if I just kept pretending to feel the way I had earlier maybe eventually I would. And so I smiled. I whistled out of my class. I sauntered to my car. I put on one of my favorite shows and I drove towards one of my favorite people. Then, the dam broke. As Sherie Scott sang about the reality of her feelings the reality of mine began to surface and then there I was, pulled over on the road singing and crying my eyes out.
I can't respect that. My pride and my intellect just loath that person. So there I was crying my eyes out and rejecting myself for being so hurt about being rejected. I respect that even less. So on and on it went, me slowly breaking into smaller and smaller segments of myself all loathing each other and missing him and loathing each other for missing him and loathing him and loathing each other for loathing him when all of them love him and loathing each other for loving him and... I could barely function.
Then I went to therapy.
That kinda helped, so afterward, I was just one hurt lonely Bryce again and I hung out with a few more of my favorite people, to all of whom I felt terribly sorry for exposing to myself at that time. Then, I smoked for the first time in what for me seemed to be a really long time and that didn't help as much as I expected it too. Bummer.
So I woke up today at 4:38pm and I guess I expected it to somehow be easier. Today I would wake up and "think about my needs" and not feel so empty and defective, or at least not feel so fucking tired. But alas, today wasn't much easier, except I had the decency to stay home and stay out of consciousness for a while. I guess I just don't think it's ok for me to have such a strong reaction to the loss of something that barely was, something that was mostly an idea based on the reality of all of nineteen hours maybe. Ok so a little more than that, but still.
What does one do to force themselves to stop feeling this way? Why do I already feel like damaged goods when I have the romantic experience of a toddler? Why am I awake now when I have class in the morning? Question after question fires off over the sound of my mothers slow breathing on the couch next to me. Questions that don't seem to stop unless I'm out cold and even then, they're just replaced with dreams of what was or what was hoped for.
I'm starting to feel like I can't afford to hope. Every time I try to prove myself wrong I hurt worse.
It fucking sucks.