This isn’t finished, but all it took for me was to see a picture. I finally mustered up the courage to share the deep stuff. Read, comment, and let me know how you feel about it.
You know your life begins to suck when the only notification you get on your cellphone is the warning you receive when you have twenty percent of battery power left. The “Good Morning Babe” text messages quickly become an elusive thing, escaping all familiarity. And terms of endearment that were once obligatory, yet heartfelt, effortless and sincere are altogether nonexistent now. No longer being held in an amorous embrace while submerged in freshly laundered satin bed sheets by the arms and body of the one who planned to love you and build a future with you in a foreign country, the only demented solace you find at this juncture is the crumbling weight of despair and excruciating melancholy: enveloping you in a seemingly endless and repetitive mental montage of pointless nostalgia.
Every minute nuance is calculated and dissected over and over again. You constantly blame and ask yourself what you did wrong and what you could have done to prevent the end from happening the way it did, completely ignoring the fact that the one who brought all this emotional calamity you smother yourself with now, invited someone you’ve never met nor even heard of, someone who has the lithe and supple body of a professional dancer and the ass of an inner city stripper praying for a lonely soul to make it rain, to spend a weekend with him, on a trip you planned, no less, less than a week after dumping you. You’ve also discovered that someone you considered a friend has propositioned him by volunteering to perform fellatio on him. You’ve never known or quite understood happiness the way you did when the two of you were together. He gave you a taste and with the flick of the wrist, your happiness is ripped from underneath you, much in the fashion a second rate magician would pull a white linen tablecloth from underneath a stack of the finest china: each broken glass a fragmented memory of what used to be.
Every breath is somehow amplified with undertones of agonizing despondence. You begin to become so comfortable in the lies you tell others when they feign actual concern by asking, “How are you today?”
Well, within the space of two minutes, I’ve thought of at least eleven ways to commit suicide.
1) I’ve been inexplicably horny as of late. It’s been almost two years since I’ve had sex. I’ve been watching a ridiculous amount of porn.
2) I got a fridge for my bedroom yesterday. My diet is going to change dramatically.
3) My high school graduating class had a social last night to kind of get everyone geared up for our ten year reunion next year. I was high, so I had fun. And a few of my classmates look good enough to eat.
4) Tinie Tempah is ridiculously handsome to me.
5) I’ve been breaking out on my forehead a bit. Proactiv+ better get it together.
6) I MUST watch 300: Rise Of An Empire today.
7) Saturday Night Live is hilarious.
8) I find Zooey Deschanel annoying. :-(
9) I have a lot to do, but I’m on Tumblr.
10) Met a cute guy at a party last night. I don’t know if he’s interested or just used me for my last cigarette.
1) The Oscar’s are on, and Leo better win (for crying out loud).
2) I am absolutely fucking TIRED of people offering their opinions as far as my life is concerned, when I didn’t ask for them. I am 26, and as long as I’m not doing anything illegal or hurtful, keep your mouth closed and your opinions to your fucking self. I am an adult, and until my bills are being paid by your opinions, I will do as I fucking please.
3) There is a definite rift in some of my friendships. A huge part of me doesn’t care because I’m beginning to see how nasty a few of them are.
4) I’m excited to grocery shop for my diet tomorrow. They say having a sculpted body is 90% diet and 10% exercise. We’ll see.
5) I’m pretty sure I have eczema. :-(
6) I think i may start another blog. Purely my writing.