Well, I’m officially homeless and single for the first time in over a year. I slept in my car packed full of stuff last night and have been up since 4:30am roaming the streets because I don’t really have a place to go. Well played, life.
You know, I really miss those typical “bad days”. Those days when you miss the bus, get drenched by a passing car, and completely forget about that test…If that’s all I had to worry about, that would give me a reason to smile.
MY ROOMMATE IS FUCKING BATSHIT CRAZY. That is all.
I like change, but lately…its wearing on me.
This is the end.
Breaking up is harder than I have ever imagined. I had always envisioned it to be much simpler than it is. I pictured couples getting into some irresolvable dispute and ending it right there in confidence…or something along those lines. I had it in my head that it would be sudden or distinct, and that said decision would be resolute. Perhaps this naiveté is due to the fact I have never been in a meaningful relationship before this. I didn’t understand the complex array of emotions that bound people to their significant other, despite knowing it was no longer good for them. I knew there was much more to it than that, but for some reason it never consciously registered until these past few months.
I’ve found that it is nowhere near any of that…at least for me. It is a process. As you inevitably confront more challenges and frustrations with your partner, you begin to really see them. You begin to notice their flaws and strengths more distinctly and how they clash or compliment your own. You see the things that you initially chose to ignore because you were so foolishly, passionately “in love”; which in turn brings you to question if you were only ever in love with your idea of who your partner is, rather than who they actually are. And if that is the case, it would seem that it was never truly love to begin with…
Once you really lay it all out and examine the pieces, a part of you knows deep down whether or not you will be able to accept and appreciate the entirety of this person as a partner. And it’s heartbreaking to realize that as much as you want to, sometimes, you just can’t. That’s not to say you don’t care deeply for them, but some of the pieces just don’t fit where they should in order for a relationship to work. And despite knowing that, you have built your life around this person…they mean more to you than you had ever dreamed possible. You begin to doubt your own opinion. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I will regret letting them go, maybe we are supposed to be together…It is painfully difficult to come to terms with, as your heart is torn in two different directions…it is absolutely heart-wrenching to know that you would inflict so much pain upon someone you care so deeply about, yet it would feel equally wrong to continue with them. You just want so badly to forget about it all and return to your own blissful, fabricated reality. But once you see it for what it is, there is no going back. And you know that…it’s over.
Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.
Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be happy because I can’t allow myself to settle or be content with the way things are. The problem with that is…I don’t know what I want.