A Breakup Tale In So Many Parts
Part 51: 54 days, 11 hours, 37 minutes since you left...
Staying up all night took it's toll, alright.
I've been obsessing on a stellar level lately about lots of different things; I've been agitated, elated, confused... almost in a manic state, but I'm not Bipolar. I don't exhibit Bipolar behavior. I just saw my Psychiatrist last week and all is cool with the meds and the diagnosis.
I was getting worried, though. I was having to literally get a physical grip on myself.
When I wrote about feeling/being " HYPERLINK "http://tryingtogetoveryouasshole.blogspot.com/2006/11/53-days-14-hours-24-minutes-since-you.html" Starved" the other day... that was a moment of clarity for me in the midst of this constant echolalia... and then, last night, another glob of insightful gel fell onto my "Mental Hairdo".
I'm calling it my "Mental Hairdo" because I change the style and depth of color of my mind so frequently--
and I looooooove the word "Hairdo". Say it out loud. Right now. "Hairdo". Put different inflections on it... see? Giggle.
Plus, if you're deep in thought and someone says, "Hey, watcha doin'?", you can say, "Runnin' a curlin' iron through ma' Mental Hairdo"... or "My Mental Hairdo's all ratted today, ya'll"...
Well, I like it.
Anyhootie-hey... I was sitting on the couch last night/this morning, waiting for my car service to LaGuardia Airport, and I was so dog tired, really just exhausted, right? My defenses were wearing down, something that I despise, because I always view myself as weak, weak, weak when that happens.
I sort of began to laugh, I guess chuckle, at myself. I rolled my eyes and each launched a tiny tear out of its corner. I just giggled out of punchiness and desperation, because I realized...
I'm so not ready for any of this.
I've been diving into this and delving into that. I turn up the iPod Dock or the radio. I clean ferociously. I watch the Tivo. I clean some more. I write on my laptop. I talk on Myspace. I check Match.com. I satisfy this itch, I serve that purpose. Brush the cats, clean their ears, clip their nails. Take a bath. Try to read. Try to knit. Try to breathe. Make friends. See friends. Talk to friends. Obsess, obsess, obsess... compulsive, compulsive, compulsive. Go go go go go.
I no longer binge on food. I can't even taste it when I eat. I hate smoking. But I do it (again).
The day after you left, I bought boxes and began to pack up your shit and I had an audition that day. I had to go. No one's going to stop me from continuing my life. I've been through worse. Screw you! I've had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad LIFE (worse than Alexander. Alexander's a WIMP; he only had a DAY, the little booby sucker).
I had to go on. I was Titanic.
"Jack... this is where we fist met".
"Well Rose, are you ready to go back to Titanic"... "Um, no, you idiot, my boyfriend DIED there, Seņor Sensitive!".
I never had time to process everything. I never gave myself time and last night, time decided to kick me in the tired, worn out, defenseless ass.
Last night, I realized that I am just not ready to be thrust into the world as a completely healed human being after what we have and are going through. It isn't even over yet. My hairdo (giggle) is a mess, ya'll, all tangled and the roots are long and dark.
As much as I want someone to touch me and make me feel like an attractive, desired woman; show me affection and attention, I am actually not braced for it. In fact, I pretty much fall to pieces. A friendship is a completely different animal, but not sex or romance, I don't even know where to begin at this moment.
US Air offered me exit row seating or a window seat. I chose the window seat even though the exit row was the "better choice". I wanted to lay my head against the window and simply cry, watching the tiny houses and cars below. I cried silently and calmly, not because I was alone or think I will be alone forever--
but because, right now, that is what I need to do... so that I won't be alone forever.
he