Been a while since I vented to my fellow suicidies. Thankfully, I haven’t been feeling so suicidal lately– but I still feel mentally unstable. I guess most of the reason for my mental stability has been my comfort in solitude and repetition. As much as the repetitive drag of everyday seems to weigh me down, I’ve felt quite anchored in it.
A few days ago I received the ominous “hey” text from an ex boyfriend. My repetitive reality has been temporarily shattered. It’s been almost a year since I last spoke to this ex boyfriend. I’ve been through a couple stages: When is he going to talk to me again, I would never talk to him again, I have no idea ifÂ I would ever talk to him again. Right now… I don’t even know. The sum of my thoughts are: I have no idea what I’m doing (I forgot how to human).
Have you ever just looked at the stars and wished the sky would absorb you, just ‘beam you up’? I saw a shooting star and simply wished I was a fish, like I always do. I wish this when the clock strikes ’11:11′, or when someone plucks and eyelash from my cheek. I just wish life was more simple. The relief it must be to just follow your instincts; to eat and breed. So easy. No feelings, no love, no heart ache, and no wishing I was anything but what I am now. Have you ever wished you were anywhere else, or anyone but who you are, just to get a break? If only for just one God damned moment…
This is love.
No, this is heartbreak. I’ve always told myself to never get caught up with exes, because what’s done has been done. It ended for a reason. But there’s just something different about this one. I hate him, but I love him. I need him, but I want to punch him. He started it: the text, the touch… The touch… ugh. How could I not tell him I wanted him to kiss me. The way he was touching me, it would be wrong if we didn’t kiss. A good kisser is one of the most important things to me in a relationship, and fuck, is he a good kisser… so soft… But this isn’t erotica… AH, the details are hot though…
“Fuck. What am I doing? Where are we going? What’s the point of it? Why did I answer his selfish text? Why did I agree to meet him where we had so many intimate memories? Why did I let him touch me the way he did? Why the fuck did I tell him I wanted to kiss him?
Why did it feel so damn good, but so horrible at the same time? How is it possible? How are these feelings possible? What are these insane, cautious, nervous, excited feelings?
What does he want? What do I want? What the fuck do I have to lose? I’ve already lost him.
Why does it make me feel empowered– in control– while I sit back and watch him squirm in his tortured turmoil? Can I leave behind and put an end to my resurfacing feelings for him? Is that what he wants? Is that how he feels?
He wants me, but I can’t. I need to hold onto as much self respect as possible– if i haven’t already thrown it all away. If he really wants it, I have to make him work for it. To a point of giving up– to a point of relapse.
But God, do I want it too.. His kisses are enough to make me fall in love again. Am I in love again? Is there a possible sliver of him that feels the same way? He told me I’m ‘spoiled milk’. Does he really mean that? Did he not feel the intensity between us? The so called ‘passion’ I’m reading about in ENG 205: Like a comet, the passion has burned out or traveled to a different universe. But isn’t it true that some comets travel to the same place more than once? That passion can be rekindled so long as the spark is strong enough?Â
This feels like love. New, stale, love. I know how love feels. Deeper than lust– the need to hold– the wish to kiss– the feeling when we’re apart– the butterflies in my stomach– the rush I feel from recalling the night before– the need to spill my guys to him. But I’m not so foolish. This situation will be handled more cautiously and controlled than any other relationship with a boy I’ve had. God, he is the furthest from a boy I’ve ever had. He will be wrapped around my finger and kept in my rear view so he knows just who’s running the show. I will not hesitate to accept new love from a different man. God knows I need a new one. Why the fuck to my exes keep haunting me like decrepit, horny ghosts?
My stomach has never been so twisted up in so long. My head hasn’t been this foggy, my heart torn, my body aching.
Why am I so confident when I’m writing, but when my eyes leave the page and begin to absorb the reality around me, I feel like I could fall apart?! Fucking drives me crazy, this reality shit. What the FUCK!?
What I would give right now to know what he’s thinking. To dive straight into his heart and feel the very emotion he’s feeling right now. Just for a second. I know he feels crazy. But its it the same crazy I feel?
This is either going to end amazing or terrible. Most likely the latter. Why does he torture me so!? Why does his scent feel stuck in my nostrils– his touch echoing through my skin? I hate him. I hate him so deeply for what he’s doing… What he’s doing to her… The fucking nerve. God, I miss him.”