Being home all day has its perks. For one, getting to sleep off sickness all day is pretty great. For another, not having to get dressed is even better. Unfortunately it also means spending the whole day alone with your thoughts, which in my case is not exactly good news. I made the comparison earlier today that being alone with my thoughts is like being locked in a pit with dogs: they're amiable enough for the first little bit, but as soon as they get hungry, I start looking less like a friend and more like a meal. It's one of the reasons I can't stand being alone as of late. Being left alone with my thoughts is a sure-fire way to send me plunging into one of those catatonic comatose days, where on the surface I'm serene, calm, at peace, but inside I'm a tempest of emotions and confusion.
It's getting colder outside, and it feels like I'm getting colder inside as the temperature drops. The winter winds are coming through, carrying the chill of loneliness, and driving people toward the warmth. I'm trying to keep reminding myself that I just need to take this one day at a time, that one of these days I'll wake up, and it won't hurt any more...
{As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts}
{Oh the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms}
{Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?}
{For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt}
And then I woke up this morning and realized how long I've been alone.
I've been alone for over a month now, and I didn't even comprehend the passing of days until time suddenly slowed down for me. All of October has come and gone while I ached, while I cried, while I sunk within myself. I can't tell whether I should be glad that so much time has passed, or miserable that it's been so long and I'm still on square one.
I keep having nightmares. I keep wishing that I could have someone sleeping next to me, someone to ward off the cold thoughts that keep me from rest. I keep wishing that I could have that happiness back, even just a fraction of the warmth that I once had.
I keep dreaming of him.
{And my head told my heart}
{"Let love grow"}
{But my heart told my head}
{"This time no}
{This time no"}
His face pervades every moment of my sleep, driving me to insanity with every passing moment. I keep telling myself that I need to let go. Everyone keeps telling me I need to let go, to move on, to get on with my life, and as much as I try, still the images persist, and always with the same pattern.
I dream of all our best moments, I dream of the day I met him, I dream of the happiest days of my life, and I dream of all the kind words I once heard from his lips, the soft caress of his hand on my shoulder when I slept, the warmth of his body next to mine as he held me until I could sleep. I dream of his laugh, his smile, his eyes, the tickle of his beard on my forehead, the steady beat of his heart. I dream of the way we used to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, and then everything changes.
I start to see his eyes flash with anger, his smile turns to a grimace, his laugh a staunch denial to me. I start to see all our fights flash before my eyes, all the cross words between us, all the worst days I put us through, I dream of the way he cringed away from my touch on the last day I saw him, the way he refused to embrace me, the way something so beautiful and so true turned into something so twisted and grotesque, something ugly and angry and unforgiving.
I wake several times a night, cold with sweat, chilled to the bone, shaking with something; I can't tell if it's tears or anger or fear. I wake each time with a pit in my stomach, guilt stabbing me with every passing second until I can force myself to sleep again.
{We'll be washed and buried one day my girl}
{And the time we were given will be left for the world}
{The flesh that lived and loved will be eaten by plague}
{So let the memories be good for those who stay}
It's maddening. I used to sleep dreaming of fantastic worlds with no sense or reason, a veritable Wonderland with every passing night. I used to be able to tell tales of my dream world that made people laugh for their nonsensical hilarity. People used to wait to hear about my dreams in the mornings, but now, I don't even know that I can safely call them dreams.
I'm so mixed in all of this. While this time through the depression, I have such amazing, supportive people here to keep me going, to keep me moving, I'm also experiencing things that never happened before. I'm being robbed of the security of knowing the territory I'm in. I'm receiving more help than ever, and more often than not, it feels futile because I just don't know how to handle what I'm experiencing.
{And my head told my heart}
{"Let love grow"}
{But my heart told my head}
{"This time no"}
{Yes, my heart told my head}
{"This time no}
{This time no"}
I never had nightmares in the past. Even in the worst days, I was able to sleep comfortably through the night and enjoy my dream world in the very least. Sleeping was the only thing I had to look forward to at one point, because dreaming was so much more appealing than real life. Now, I don't even have that. I can't even go through my day with the goal of getting to sleep, because now, I'm afraid to even sleep.
I don't know what to do. I can't comprehend in any way, shape, or form what to do to remedy this. I'm essentially stuck in a whirlpool with no way to escape, nothing good to look forward to, no clue as to what I should do to escape. The less rest I get, the more muddled my thoughts get, and the muddier they get, the more bitter and confused and depressed I get, and the more guilt I start to feel, and the less rest I get.
{Oh the shame that sent me off from the God that I once loved}
{Was the same that sent me into your arms}
{Oh and pestilence is won when you are lost and I am gone}
{And no hope, no hope will overcome}
I spent several days in California recently, partially for Disneyland, partially for the beach, partially for a family wedding. It was meant to be a wonderful vacation, a fun-filled trip wherein I could be so cheerful that I'd be singing
Zipadee Doo-dah from where the sun doesn't shine. We left home early Wednesday morning, and I was hopeful, excited to be leaving town for a few days and seeing my family members again, and going to Disneyland, and seeing the ocean again.
The drive went by in a beautiful blur. I slept for hours beneath the cover of a top hat, nestled beneath my warmest blanket, cuddled up to my Lotso Huggin' Bear, with Blue October playing in my headphones and keeping me relaxed for the long expanses of road. When we arrived in California, I was ecstatic to see that from our windows, we could watch the ocean lapping at the shore, a mere roadway away from our motel. I walked out to the railing overlooking the ocean, stopping to stare at the dancing waves.
... and I felt this... this overwhelming sense of bitterness wash over me.
{And if your strife strikes at your sleep}
{Remember spring swaps snow for leaves}
{You'll be happy and wholesome again}
{When the city clears and sun ascends}
It startled me. It scared me. After weeks and weeks of void and sadness and sinking, the sharp, angry feeling startled me. I couldn't understand what brought it on. I couldn't grasp what could have made me switch so sharply, to make such a U-turn in my thought process. I couldn't decide if I was angry at myself, angry at him, angry at the whole situation, or if I was just... angry to be angry.
I felt the emptiness in my right palm. The place where so often I felt a palm pressed against mine; I felt the chill on the back of my right hand, where so often I felt fingertips curled, resting against my skin. For the first time in all the weeks of being alone, I felt... more alone than ever. I missed having that hand to hold. It's possibly one of the biggest things I took for granted.
I do admit, I felt a portion of the bitterness toward him consciously. This trip had been the last big plan between us. He had been personally invited to the wedding, my parents had told all my aunts and uncles and cousins that he'd be coming along, that he'd finally get to meet all of them. I'd been excited to show him my dad's side of the family, to show him what a loud, raucous, excited group of people my family is. I was so... so excited.
Instead, I got to explain to every one of my aunts, uncles, and cousins, one after another throughout the entire evening, where my wonderful boyfriend was. My night, while it was beautiful, while the ceremony was amazing, while everything was so immaculate, was outright Hell. All night my ears rang with the phrases:
"Weren't you going to bring your boy?"
"Hey, Cloudy, where's your boyfriend? I was so excited to meet him."
"Isn't there that man in your life? What happened to him? I thought you were bringing him?"
I left the room numerous times to go hide out in the bathroom and cry like an infant. I was ashamed of myself that even after all these weeks since it happened, I still break down and cry at the mere mention of the breakup, any mention of my "wonderful boyfriend" and any inquiry into how I'm handling it.
{And my head told my heart}
{"Let love grow"}
{But my heart told my head}
{"This time no"}
I had my favorite cousin calling me a cliche all night long. "Hey, Claudia, don't you find it kind of hilarious that you and your boyfriend broke up, and now you're at a wedding?"
Um, no. I don't find it hilarious. I don't even find it marginally funny. I don't even find it remotely worth a chuckle. I find it amazingly miserable and pathetic. I find it depressing, and infuriating, and frankly the exact opposite of hilarious.
I wanted so badly to punch him in the face, right in the middle of a wedding reception.
On top of that, my favorite uncle kept smothering me with hugs (which on normal occasions I wouldn't have minded) and rubbing my hair into a mess, saying "No more long face! Forget the boy, get on with your life!" and then letting go leaving me a messy-haired grump.
I just wanted to stop him in his whirlwind of affection, right there and say "Tio Pablo, if you had met this boy, you wouldn't be telling me to get on with my life. You wouldn't be telling me to forget him, or to remove my long face. No, you'd be looking me in the eye and saying 'Girl, you find a way to fight for that love, and you fight for it no matter what!' instead of coddling me and telling me to forget him. Tio, if you'd met him..."
{And my head told my heart}
{"Let love grow"}
{But my heart told my head}
{"This time no}
{This time no"}
I know, given the circumstances of the breakup (which you may or may not know, but really don't need to know), that it's incredibly childish and selfish for me to be angry at him over not attending my cousin's wedding with me; to be angry at him for not going on vacation with a person I'm sure he couldn't stand to be around for more than a few minutes. I don't have the right to be mad at him for being human, but still, I was angry at him, if anything for the simple reason that because of him leaving me, I was humiliated in front of my whole family...
I have no right to feel the bitterness that mingles with the sadness now. I shouldn't feel the anger or the fury or the indignant grouchiness that pervades my day. I shouldn't feel as cold as Winter Winds over something that's my fault, except to myself. This harrowing bitterness is just misguided, and needs only to turn and face its source to know its true purpose...
