It gets harder when its quiet.
Like at night or on the weekends.
I strive so hard to live like those pithy little memes on Facebook. You know, the ones that say the only person you need to be happy is you. That you can't truly love another person until you love yourself. I post them by the dozen on my page, wanting my belief and the sheer number of them to be enough to make it true. But, in the end, I only wind up resenting them as being unreasonable and unrealistic. I love you so much that it physically hurts to know that we may never be together.
I thought I was having a heart attack last night. No joke, the pain radiated down my left arm and my jaw ached. My chest felt so tight but I could still feel that hollow echoing thud. I thought how great it would be to have a heart attack and die out there. No car, in the middle of the night with the girls sound asleep. I could die and not have to spend another minute living without you. You know suicide just isn't my style. Suffering slowly and loudly. That's my style. But now, a heart attack, that would end it all without having to worry about suicide or suffering. My chest felt like it was cracking open. I was sobbing so loudly I couldn't understand why the girls didn't hear me. It hurt worse than reading a Twilight fan fiction.
I was fucking living one.
Dying would have been too convenient. Heart attack would have been too tidy. I woke this morning with that same wet pain in my chest. Its been so easy to fake happy today. After the girls peeled me out of bed this morning, forced me to face the world, it was easy to pretend that everything was just fine.
I texted you. I messaged you. Of course I did. I can't help myself. I love you and I always will. Nothing will ever stop that. But I kept it casual. I asked if we could be friends. Asked if I could be there for you as just a monotonous little nobody.
I'm like the fat girl on the diet that gets a job at the bakery just so she can at least smell the fucking doughnuts. Except, she's never happy with just a little sniff, is she? No she'll eventually take a crumb or two and when that isn't enough she'll find herself in the corner of the dark stock room with powered sugar on her chest and drool on her chin, shoveling jelly filleds into her maw.
Edward tells Bella that she is his "own personal brand of heroin". That's how I feel about you. I'm filled with a vague sense of longing for you until the sun goes down or I have to go too long before talking to you again and then I start to show signs of withdrawal. Even now, sitting in the quiet, I can feel my body crave you in ways I shouldn't crave a man I've never held, kissed or fucked. And yet, here I huddle, shoving jelly filleds into my maw.
I fucking hate Stephanie Meyer for getting it so right. I hate her for understanding the simplest bond between two adults is a sheer need that defies logic or understanding. It defies explanation. But you're sick. You're so exhausted and so stressed out and I know that while I'm not a gigantic factor in those two things, I am one of the factors that you... WE actually have some control over while the other factors are more like acts of God with wills of their own.
I fucked up before by trying to quit you cold turkey. I was selfish and wrong by trying to leave your life. I know now that I can't ever leave your life any more than I could pull out my veins and arteries and use them for a jump rope. But I can try to be your friend and try to eliminate some of the stress that comes with being what we are. I can try to support you instead of being just one more thing that knocks your feet out from under your. I can be the one thing in your life that comes to you with no expectations on your time, energy or love. At least that's what I hope.
And later...
Later on if you feel better and you want something more. I'll be there then too. If that's what you want. Because I can't convince myself that loving you is bad for my heart.
That sooner or later heart attacks really do happen.
And that they're really just as messy as any other kind of hurt.
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