I remember when I was younger and I would feel this way. An overwhelming sadness due to an accumulation of things. I never knew what it was exactly that brought it on or exactly what to focus on while I was sad. Rather it was like my heart was just tired and heavy from all the crap I had absorbed.
Back then I would lay in bed and just sob. Body heaving, snot inducing sobs. Racking my body, feeling myself shudder and shake.
Tonight that feeling came back, welcome old friend I said to myself. I was momentarily happy as I thought about how long it’s been since I felt this way and then suddenly a sad song came on my random playlist and I sank back.
I laid here quietly and three tears ran from my right eye. I felt them stream down my face and felt as though I could hear them dropping onto my pillow. And that was it.
I don’t know if I should be worried that it’s come to this. Or maybe I should be happy that I’m not as distraught as I use to be, or maybe I’m just handling things better now that I’m older. The poetic me wants to say that maybe I ran out of tears and the silly me says maybe I have to start rationing.
I just want to say sorry to my past
For being so young and dumb and foolish and selfish
Sorry to old boyfriends friends lovers
For being so wrapped up in myself
That I lost some of the best people in my life because of it
And I want to say sorry to myself for all the years I beat myself up over it
Because I am a better person today…
or so I hope.
You can only hide behind your sunglasses for so long little girl
Before the tear drops start dripping down your cheeks
Hold your breath as you try to hold it all in
Suffocating in your own skin
Hoping no one sees the real you
To the softness within
You’re only hope is that it might rain
To disguise the pain that you’re in
He’s got something over you and every time you see him that cranberries song plays. You’re such a fool for him, but when he reappears it’s like magic. You’re amazed, angered, curious and slightly to your own disgust, excited. I don’t know if every woman has one, but he exists somewhere out there.
He may be a royal douchebag, an ass or plainly a jerk. But I always come back. I wonder whats wrong with me and I resolve to never answer his texts or to only have curt and short conversations when he calls. Coyly thinking I’m playing out some cat and mouse game when I’m really a gazelle and he a starving Lion.
So what about him makes me so weak? Could it be his charisma, good looks, articulate manner or because he makes my panties disintegrate? Your guess is as good as mine.
it’s 11:39 PM and I’m eating a donut in bed. Not just any kind of donut, but jelly filled and it’s warm from the microwave. All of these yummy factors are only amplified by the fact that I’m high.
Now you may think it’s disgusting or that I’m a big fat bitch, but you’re wrong. I’m only a bit chubby. Either way I don’t care because this donut is delicious. It’s warm and sweet and doughy, kind of like the men I end up dating.
The civil type where we would sit down at the dinner table at 7:30 and eat together. We would talk about our day as a family, share jokes and laugh. But we don’t do that anymore because we can’t function as a family. Everyone here is filled with regret and resentment, both of which do not make good dinner companions. So we all eat in our separate rooms; my father in the living room, my mom in her bedroom and my brother and I, when we can tolerate each other eat in the kitchen. It’s become a habit and unfortunately doesn’t look as though it will be changing.
Lately the rite aid near my house has come to consider me as the saddest alcoholic. For the past week I’ve come in to buy discount liquor and paired it with something sad such as : tampons, cat food, bridal magazines and candy.
I almost had a moment of comic relief as I thought of giving the cute checkout guy my number and telling him to call me in a week while subtly eying my purchase of super plus tampons. As usual though I wimped out.