Rolling with Punches

He shut the phone off. The last thing I said “I feel like such an idiot for thinking you’d never make me cry again” must not have hit the mark. The nerve. I wanted to hit a fucking nerve. Anything is better than the silence of neglect. Checking the blank screen every 5 minutes, and picturing him at the bar, with some…girl. Running her fingers though his thick brown hair and asking stupid questions. I should be there with him, babysitting his fidelity. Reminding him of everything he has to come home to in case he forgets. I have the faith in him of a small child, continuously disappointed, ever willing to try again. I can see him now with people who would encourage him to shut off the phone, have another drink and forget me. Forget that i’m human, with a phone in my lap that isn’t lighting up. And its past one thirty in the morning. I dream that someone will love me unconditionally, I dream of a 5 oclock shadow coming through the door and hugging his children. I worry that this is not it & he is not him. But not everyone can cut ties, I depend on him to get through the day.I have often wondered if I would survive without him or if I would find myself in a corner gasping for breath in a full blown anxiety attack. Aching all over with the tingling numbness of depression, covered in dead flesh, I would self-harm as a preventative measure. I wouldnt take my car into the nearby mountains, I would stay home and open flesh to make sure I was still alive, to make sure there was something left to salvage. When I see the blood I know its going to be okay. Then I bandage myself like a wounded animal. Straight to voicemail, again. Tears and vomit meet in my throat, because I know and it makes me sick. I know I will roll back like the tide, to rest comfortably in the arms that will inevitably break my spirit & take my life.