Do you ever feel like no one even sees you, unless they are TOLD to?
Ya know, like a cashier or a doctor?
That’s how I have felt for ten months.
Everyone who has ever mattered is just gone and I am standing here desperate for a hug and some attention.
It grows tiring and I am pretty close to done here.
Fuck if things aren’t hard. I take eight steps forward and fall back seven. I cried on the way home today for the first time in a long time. My life is so shattered. How can it be that this is sidelining me so fucking hard?
I’m up to my what’s it with Mr. Yummy. I feel a fool. I’ve been in love with him for 15 years and here I am living with him and I feel so cast aside. I told him I feel like he doesn’t even like me. He says he does, but the thing is…I have become a friend. I’m an old friend that he happens to fuck. I don’t ask him for much, and as more time goes by, I ask for less. I feel…negated.
How much of this is because I lost you, and how much is because we will never be what we were before?
I can’t do this Mel. I hear myself say, “I don’t stay where I am not wanted.” I feel the ramping up of the “bolt” but I am so aware that I ran before so I refuse to run, and I stay somewhere that I have become sad, miserable and worst of all, lonely.
I want to give up. This is the first time I have said this to another living soul. I don’t feel good.
That’s all for now.
I fucking miss the world out of you and I am hating on life right now.
I woke up this morning, feeling pretty good. On a scale of one to ten I was about a 4, which as of late, is very, VERY good.
I was laying in Mr. Yummy’s bed, slowly coming to. I heard my text notification, covered my head with the pillow and went back to the sleepier side of the pillow for a few minutes. Checked my text, woke up and realized that was the first time, since I got the flu a few months ago, that I woke up to something other than the intense itch.
I smiled inside.
Mr. Yummy, on the other hand has not been sleeping well. The itch is worse at night. He’s gotten really quiet and well, that’s scared me. I feel SO bad. This is not something I wanted to happen to him. I AM the cause of his intense itch.
Night before last, I did not take an antihistamine and I was up three times. I noticed that he was not sleeping, and was not in his bed with me. I felt really bad about that all day at work, so last night I again offered him a Zyrtec. This time, he slept a little better, and I was aware of him next to me. I was hopeful since we treated the same day, that he woke this morning with a little relief. He said he slept better but that it wasn’t getting better. He also said it wasn’t getting worse. That’s a YAY! But the fact he is going through this at all is killing me inside. ( I know, look at all the negative wording I am using.)
I was out of icky stick tubes and wanted to smoke so because I was suddenly SO much more angry at Melissa. I didn’t say anything, just got in my car and went to the smoke store. I got up to the highway and was getting ready to make my left, when I heard myself
say start screaming, “Well, I could drive my car into a brick wall, but then I’D HAVE TO SEE MELISSA AND I DON”T WANT TO SEE THAT FUCKING BITCH YET!!! By now, I’m on the highway accelerating, but apparently, I had more to scream. “YOU FUCKING BITCH!!! I FUCKING HATE YOU! IT WASN’T ENOUGH TO FUCK UP YOUR OWN KID’S LIVES, BUT YOU HAD TO FUCK UP MINE AND NOW MR. YUMMY’S LIVES TOO?!?!?!” Then this primal screaming just started coming out of me.
It was a strange moment. As I was driving home, I heard myself utter, “Boy, that felt good.”
When I got here, the motorcycle was out and Mr. Yummy was coming out of the motorcycle hut. I didn’t say anything to him, I didn’t look at him, I just headed straight into the house. I was still angry and I am really upset that he has scabies. I don’t want to read more into his silence than there is because he went out of his way Wednesday night to tell me he has feelings for me. He left, I paced, and screamed, smoked, started making coffee and suddenly got scared at what I heard myself say in my car as I found myself alone in Mr. Yummy’s house, with all his rifles and handguns.
I picked up my phone and called 1-800-273-8255 (Thanks Google). I don’t know how long I talked to Karen, but it helped. I then text a friend. I asked him to call me when he was able, he did. We talked at length.
I’m still fucked up, but I feel like the wind up airplane rubber band that just released so, I am writing…because that’s what I do when I need to calm, breathe, think, flow and release. Then I am going to take an Epsom salt bath, to try to draw out some of the literal shit these fucking parasites have left inside my body. Before the bath though, I am going to try this recipe for Crazy Coffee that my friend text me. The only coconut oil that I have at the moment though, is infused.
I’ve never in my life heard the woman who was in my car this morning and she scared me.