Breathe Through It

Tonight, I need to write. Crying can't be the only way I get it out of me. But I block myself. Crying hurts enough to feel good, but it doesn't hurt as much as admitting the truth. Crying allows me to bring up a possible truth, think about it instantly and move on to hurting and releasing. Writing involves thinking. It means I sit on the pain as I vocalize everything that could be real.

What happened? That is turning out to be the theme as the end of our relationship truly unfolds and I do my best to look back through the pain and fear and sift out just that...what happened. I recognize things I did that were wrong...yet I can't get past the mystery. Everything I am accountable for just doesn't seem to me to be "bad enough" to warrant him lying to me, cheating, and telling me "It's not fixable." It doesn'y justify his giving up on love. It doesn't help me sleep at night when all I can think about -- what haunts me even in the furthest reaches of my dream-life -- is how he looked at me and saw love. He felt love. He was true, beautiful, perfect love. And how he so quickly forgot how to connect with love. He SO easily was able to choose deceit and pain and distance over love. All I do is sit here wondering what happened? What the fuck did I do? Everyone tells me "Oh, it's not your fault, oh don't worry it's all him, oh this or that" and it doesn't help. When all the advice I hear is "You really just have to take it one day at a time and you will be okay" and I sit there thinking "Yeah, well what if I can't even last a whole day?" There are times I don't even know how to last a minute. Just a minute. I panic...and I bawl my liveliness out...and I think about how much of a fuck-up I am...and I try to stay calm and drive even though I can't see, 'cause if I pull over to cry, I'll be late for work, and if I'm late for work, I won't be able to pay rent, and if I don't pay rent, I'll be homeless and if I'm homeless I'll hate myself even more than I already do which is virtually unfathomable at this point. When will it stop hurting? When will my friends really show up for me? When the fuck will someone ELSE help ME out?..help me in standing up?? When I'm coiled up on the floor, crying until I'm dehydrated, my legs weak and immobile, when will someone come to me and tell me that they love me and will be there for me -- and then follow through with some action?? "I love you" is hollow. Anyone can say that. "Oh, hope you're okay....well, anyway, I gotta go!" is bullshit. Really. It is. Where is the love? Where the fuck is all the love? And where the fuck is mine? 'Cause I just don't feel it. I want someone who loves me enough to insist that they take me out to dinner, and we go somewhere I can cry without looking foolish, and who is willing to take me home afterward and just sit there, listening and rubbing my back for four hours while I just simply cry, and scream, and writhe in my pain and my fear and my loneliness. 'Cause I know it would be a lot easier to do all that with someone else showing up for and supporting me than it would be to do it alone every night like I am right now.