23 ноември, 2014

some things you just can't fix

Reading Mara sure doesn't help me stay sane. I remember the summer days when I had to get up early and go to work. I remember writing here, drinking coffee, poisoning myself with nicotine and finding it hard to breathe. Why? Because in those few hours I was all alone with my thoughts and I had to convince myself that it was all true and we were no longer together. We were just a story, part of the past. There were days I had to repeat this to myself a hundred times while pretending to be okay and placing a smile on my lips as people walked in and walked out. I pretended to be sane, for the sake ot believeing it myself. 
Then there were days when I'd call and you'd be sleepy and I'd ask you what you want for breakfast and would get you something special and kiss you. Then the reality would set in again and I'd be trying to decide which side to fight for - the real or the insane one. Of course, when you are awake things are different. It's only in that half asleep moment that I can believe my own insanity and have you. Then it would all be over and I'd have to bite my lips instead of kissing you, I'd have to hit the wall every time I need a hug and I'd have to end the call before I realise I'm dialing your phone number. The waking up isn't the hardest part, when your heart is broken. It's everything else. 
It's the realisation in the morning when I fight my own sense of reason. I think our fight wasn't real and that it was a bad dream, so I have to convince myself it was real. This took about two hours. Then I can call a friend and have them tell me what they did the day before and I don't really have to talk or think, which is bliss. But then work comes and I have tobe alone with my thoughts again. My painful thoughts with my mind which is broken and keeps telling me none of it happened, while I know it did. I somehow make it during my shift and then I have to find something to do, because the rest of the day I am locked up in our room full of our memories and all your things and you ignoring me, if I am lucky. So I start calling people again and find a reason to go out so as not to go completely insane and do something stupid. Stupid came later, when you weren't there. If I make it to the night without crying, I'm a hero. I never was. It was hard to breathe and my throat felt like someone was choking me from trying to stop the tears and the sobs. 
On a lucky night you'd be there and I'd cry and you'd be trying to comfort me, while I realise that you shouldn't. On the not so lucky ones, you'd be out and I'd have to yet again fight my urge to call you or get so drunk I can't even remember my own name. I would eventually let Asha chew at my hand and would let her play with my hand till my hands were bleeding but I never felt a thing. 
Then he showed up. And I had something else to worry about, so I guess it was fine with me. I didn't have to stay home, I wasn't all by myself with my crazy thoughts and the need to remind myself of what is real and what isn't. My mind was busy thinking about him, so it gave up on you. Then you kept hurting me to the point where no tears would come. I'd stand there feeling completely numb while looking at a photo. That's when the really stupid came. My hand should have hurt where it touched a memory. I should have been on the ground crying and letting it all out. I should have felt pain, I should have choked on the sobs and the tears. I didn't. So I found my way into old habits until I felt it along with the burning of the only drink I had in the room. It wasnever enough. It would all be over the next day and I needed it to last, to remind me that i can still feel things. 
Then there would be those other moments when I'd be having a nightmare and I'd wake up crying and all alone and I'd be doing that stupid thing before even realising it. I wouldn't feel a thing for some time. I only know what I've done after it's done. Then some feeling would come, usually that I'm late and reality calls. So I fake normal and have yet another day of pretending to be okay and dying on the inside. 
That was only then... 

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