You said you loved me, Or were you just being kind? Or am I losing my mind?
I am really kind of disgusted that I only write here during the times in my life when my loneliness is so visceral I can't stand it. I am having trouble breathing and I can't focus. I've gotten two extensions on one of my papers but it needs to be due by the end of this week. I have three other papers due this week. I couldn't even do my reading tonight. Generally sociological theory does not usually incite panicky tears and hyperventilation. Every stupid word that that hopelessly wrong dead white dude had to say just made everything seem so much more insurmountable.
I don't really understand why two and a half months later it feels just as bad as it did that first horrible night. The only difference is that I'm more used to it and more sick and fucking tired of feeling this way. I never thought I would loath crying. My psychologist thinks that because of the depression and the medication for so long that I never really knew what it was like to hurt. I hurt in a very different way. A vague hurt directed inward. I think maybe because I never knew happiness from the time I was 14 and only really started to be happy for about a year before I met Geoff. That is really not enough time to fully understand what happiness is. I'm not used to being happy. Being with Geoff was certainly the happiest time in my life thus far. Now that it's over the pain is truly like nothing I've ever felt before.
I guess I pushed all this away when I was planning The Vagina Monologues. Partly because so many people were relying on me and partly because I love doing it. It gave me something to look forward to and it gave my life meaning. I could tell myself that I didn't need him because I had so many other things in my life. Now that it is over I have nothing to look forward to. And I am so burnt out and exhausted from all the work that I don't know if I have the strength to finish the semester.
I feel like I need to relearn who I am. What I want. Who I want. I don't know who it was that I love(d). He's not the same person who I was with. I don't know where he went and where his love for me went. I don't know if I can ever trust anyone that deeply again. I don't know if I want to. That whole "it's better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all" seems like a bullshit justification that people thought up to get through the nights. This pain does not feel worth the happiness we once had. Maybe that says something about our relationship. Maybe it gets better. But maybe it doesn't.
My English professor has been telling me to read The Bell Jar may times since the beginning of the semester. She says that some of the things I say remind me of her and her prose. From anyone I might be wary of that sentiment, but from her I know it is an endearing compliment. She lent me one of her's and I'm about half way through. I love it, but some of ways I relate to her are very unnerving. Has anyone read it? I can't seem to find anyone else who has.
I don't really understand why two and a half months later it feels just as bad as it did that first horrible night. The only difference is that I'm more used to it and more sick and fucking tired of feeling this way. I never thought I would loath crying. My psychologist thinks that because of the depression and the medication for so long that I never really knew what it was like to hurt. I hurt in a very different way. A vague hurt directed inward. I think maybe because I never knew happiness from the time I was 14 and only really started to be happy for about a year before I met Geoff. That is really not enough time to fully understand what happiness is. I'm not used to being happy. Being with Geoff was certainly the happiest time in my life thus far. Now that it's over the pain is truly like nothing I've ever felt before.
I guess I pushed all this away when I was planning The Vagina Monologues. Partly because so many people were relying on me and partly because I love doing it. It gave me something to look forward to and it gave my life meaning. I could tell myself that I didn't need him because I had so many other things in my life. Now that it is over I have nothing to look forward to. And I am so burnt out and exhausted from all the work that I don't know if I have the strength to finish the semester.
I feel like I need to relearn who I am. What I want. Who I want. I don't know who it was that I love(d). He's not the same person who I was with. I don't know where he went and where his love for me went. I don't know if I can ever trust anyone that deeply again. I don't know if I want to. That whole "it's better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all" seems like a bullshit justification that people thought up to get through the nights. This pain does not feel worth the happiness we once had. Maybe that says something about our relationship. Maybe it gets better. But maybe it doesn't.
My English professor has been telling me to read The Bell Jar may times since the beginning of the semester. She says that some of the things I say remind me of her and her prose. From anyone I might be wary of that sentiment, but from her I know it is an endearing compliment. She lent me one of her's and I'm about half way through. I love it, but some of ways I relate to her are very unnerving. Has anyone read it? I can't seem to find anyone else who has.