A Crying Night

November 3, 2013 § Leave a comment

I have nights sometimes where I cry at everything. Admittedly, I do start my period tomorrow, so it may just be another symptom of my uterus making my life miserable. I’ve never really tried to track when my crying days occur. Either way, I’m certainly having one tonight. I’ve only got two sleeping pills left and somehow I’m already out of money from my paycheck (thanks, Rent) so I’m trying to ration. Still have a lot of things to pay for before payday like basic groceries, my prescription, three of my bills, and I’m supposed to take Asha to the vet on Friday. Goodbye, savings. It was nice of you to stick around this long.  

Anyway. The crying. 

I went home last week on something of an impulse. I’m glad I went, but sometimes you let in the bad with the good, sometimes you reopen old wounds when you’re just trying to take the bandaid off. Visiting made me remember how much I’ve lost, how much I gave up, when I moved to Dallas. God, I’m lonely here. I’ve never really had friends before. I’ve never really been in that wonderful middle zone of being able to see my parents on a weekly basis without having to live with them. Those are rare and special things. And I abandoned them. Feeling that love again, feeling that happiness of companionship, made me realize how much I didn’t want to go back to Dallas, where I spend my evenings holed up alone in my apartment because I can’t stand the company of others here. Or when I do go out with them, I so often wish I’d stayed at home. That’s no way to live life. Crying.

I stopped by the museum to see an exhibition (or two… or three…) and one of the security guards ran me down. I thought she just wanted to say “hi,” but she launched into a rapid-fire blend of personal questions mixed with her own insights into a topic I thought was private: me and mark. Something she said keeps running through my mind, she said “I remember he used to look at you and just glow. You could tell he loved you.” Why would she say something like that? I don’t even know her name, and she couldn’t even remember mine, but she had all these observations and opinions about my relationship. You’d think, with her knowledge that it ended and I now live 800 miles away, that she wouldn’t have said anything like that at all, that she would have kept the respectful and polite distance that is so often maintained between coworkers who only know each other’s faces from the hallway. It was really a conversation I could have lived another 25 years without having. 

There were some complications with him as well. Conversations that never should have happened yet couldn’t really be avoided. Reopening freshly healed wounds just to roughly staple them shut again. Inevitable, really, walking those same streets, frequenting those same haunts. Unavoidable. The wounds are healing quickly, as I so often return to my “normal” state, but that security guard’s words keep slapping me. Ah, right. It’s just my uterus. Crying.

I’ve been talking rather intermittently with dad about getting treatment. I don’t want to start meds until I move closer to home and I don’t want to go to therapy without meds because it’s pointless. Dad accused me of being weak and scared, making excuses. The truth is, as I just realized tonight in my crying night haze, that I’m afraid. Dad keeps saying that I have to change, that who I am will need to change to get better and that getting better will change who I am. Very few people like me. Even fewer love me. I’m pretty okay with that, I’m certainly used to it by now and have come to expect it, but I’m afraid that if I do change, those people won’t love me anymore. I’m afraid that if I’m not me anymore, they won’t want me around. I don’t know what they see in me, friends or family, to love me, to somehow enjoy my company, to not want me to disappear. I don’t know what they see so I don’t know what’s going to change when I change to get better. I don’t know what they’ll like in me if I’m not me anymore. I’ll be alone. Crying.

Aren’t you alone now, kiddo? Aren’t you crying alone in your empty apartment in a city who doesn’t know you exist? Aren’t you alone already, and by choice? 

I opened up my eyes and found myself alone alone alone above a raging sea that stole the only girl I loved and drowned her deep inside of me



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading A Crying Night at A Wash of Paint.


%d bloggers like this: