It’s crisp tonight. Not all that warm. I can feel the weather down here getting cooler. I can feel the insatiable urge for hot apple cider and hooded zip up sweaters. I’m generally happy, especially when the seasons change like this. But I find myself feeling mixed. It’s like an emotional ADHD that I can’t shake. I find myself hesitant on even writing this. I don’t exactly know why though.
I had just gotten off of the phone with John. We were talking about past relationships and past experiences. Things that generally make me feel stabby. Things I’m not ready to discuss with the occasional stumbler who finds me. But I’ve had a multitude of things bothering me lately. At least to the point of what some would call problem drinking. I haven’t been honest with anybody about the amount I drink when I’m by myself but it’s enough to start rebuilding my tolerance. I’ve had the same lyrics playing in my head. The same songs. The same blur of misguided emotions. Rarely do I feel I have moments of clarity as of late. Sad, isn’t it? Such is the cycle. By this time tomorrow I’ll be my typically bubbly appearing individual. Wait! I’m on a tangent!
We were talking about things I don’t discuss. Things that are very hard for me to admit out loud because I had spent years tricking my memory in to thinking they were illusions. And we were starting to get in to a very deep part of it. Wrist deep in to the roots of things that cause me to lose sleep. Things I haven’t told my therapist back in New York. And the conversation ended abruptly. I think that may have hurt a little. Well. No. I know it hurt a little or I wouldn’t have gotten the rum. You know the old Irish proverb. “Drink until you can’t feel feelings anymore.” I guess it felt dismissed. Like it was casual conversation. Like we weren’t talking about something deep and troubling, but in stead were talking about something mundane and trivial like what we planned on having for lunch tomorrow or something. And it leaves me feeling a mix of things I’d rather not feel. It doesn’t bode well with me. That would explain why I’m on stiff drink number 7 of one half coconut rum and one half cherry pomegranate V8 Splash. I was dismissed because his friend Kim wanted to talk about something. And it’s not the first time I’ve felt like such a fucking girl about it. The last time it took me days to mention it. But that’s because it took me that long to say it without thinking I just might cry. It left me feeling a little disposable. A little insignificant. Those still aren’t the right words. Temporary maybe? I’m sure it will come to me. But if I keep this up I’m going to run out of alcohol. In an hour or so it will turn to hurt. And an hour from then, if I’m still awake it will turn in to a degree of anger or irritation.
I don’t think anybody really knows how much it sucks when you’re put on a back burner without notice by someone that you legitimately care about. I don’t think anybody realizes that I have effectively lived my life on the back burner until I couldn’t take it anymore. And then I left. My mother never kicked me out. I left on my own accord because I needed to be important to someone. Even if it was just myself.
And I could be vindictive. I could be spiteful and hurtful. I could be cruel. But I can’t at the same time. It’s not like he intentionally made me cry. It’s not like anybody meant for me to feel this low. I can’t even bring myself to tell him that he brought me to tears. In all fairness, it wasn’t all him. I’m sure the rum and the acoustic music didn’t help. But that’s something I do that makes little sense to me. Why would it be so hard for me to say that someone upset me or hurt my feelings? I think that maybe because if I ever showed it that he would feel worse. Maybe it’s because I feel he’d bring it up to other people and it would make it weird for me. Does that make me a hypocrite? I mean, I’m the one blasting this on a blog that I’m fairly certain nobody reads.
After we got off of the phone he briefly stopped talking to me and then texted me because she wasn’t talking to him. She took a phone call. We ended a serious conversation so swiftly for that? Something that takes me a long time to talk about? I don’t know when I’ll be ready to continue that conversation or any conversation on a deeper than face value level because as dumb and immature as it is, that shit hurts. And I STILL can’t bring myself to tell him that my responses are short because I’m hurt. Or that they’re distant because it’s hard to see when my glasses fog up from crying. I’m an extrovert but I’m so afraid of getting close to them. They always go away in the end. I don’t even have it in me to tell him that I’ve been crying since shortly after we got off of the phone. Or that I’m not done drinking yet. I really should though. Because not breathing a word feels like lying.
Crafty Little Wench 