PMS, blunt end

I don’t feel emotionally charitable right now. I feel like in the depths, I am crystallizing, hard amber long to be unearthed.

I feel a lot of resentment and a lot of unrest. I am unable to control any sector, and I am exhausted.

Everything stings, especially him. I walk into it again and again. I know when he’s at work. I stand when he walks into the room. It hurts when he walks away so easily. Dedicated thru and thru. He could disagree, but it feels like I am often just a shadow passing by. I linger and he doesn’t. I grasp at what beauty I have. If I can still be pretty, then I have at least one appeal.

I know it’s more complicated than that, but I still reduce myself so. It doesn’t charm him back.

I know I can’t charm him back, and even if I could, it’s over when it’s over. And it’s over. I think that’s why I’m more sensitive to it now.

I’m sensitive to him–most when he’s right there. It’s still difficult to talk to him, or talk right after he leaves. He tried to comfort me the other day and I rejected it. He asked what was going to happen when he left. I would cry for two minutes more, and then I’d be okay. I didn’t say that. I shrugged and I shrugged. It hurts that he’s within proximity and it’s not the same. I miss talking to him, and even when we do, it’s not the same. We’re not in each other’s lives anymore.

I know I believe that when things end like this, they’re final. I don’t know if I had faced that reality in full. I think the rom-com in me hoped he’d turn back, and even still it probably wouldn’t work. He’d at least have turned back though. He told me he thought about it, which makes it worse.

It’s been over a month now, and the longer we’re apart the more I have to face the mirror. And the reasons grow, and my rejection grows. I don’t know how much more rejection from him I can face, or if I could ever face it again given the choice. I don’t think there’ll be a choice. I don’t think he tries to reject me as often as I feel it. We’re just moving on, and he’s better at it.

I think of the mouse that runs the maze again and again without reward. Why am I always the mouse?

I think about how he encouraged me to say what I was thinking just to say it, and I told him I don’t believe in that practice–not when there are stakes. I think about how among the many reasons, one is that if that was the path, there would never be an end. Given enough time, I can always feel more and say more. When does the conversation end if you don’t choose to leave it?

Without blame, he practices that philosophy too. And that’s what hurts me.

But sometimes we joke. I think we’re trying to be normal.

I just don’t think I can do it much longer. I think I was wading, and now that I don’t have the option to swim farther out, I am out. Beached and rotting, unable to give a performance.

He apologized for making things harder the other day when he didn’t need to. I know he’s not trying to. Intentions and received sentiments don’t always overlap.

He knew my lunch schedule, and I want to believe that means he follows my habits too. I still felt rejected in the moment, like he was kicking me out.

More than crystallized, I feel infected. I think a lot of my life was out of control before him, and with him–now after too. It’s not his fault, but he became unhappy and now I feel that too. I was happy with him, willfully ignorant. I’ve let the mud swallow my footsteps.

Because reality is, it was bad timing. When it rains it pours, and I have felt an avalanche of abandonment this last month and a half–from all sectors. I know it’s not the intention, but still, I feel wounded.

It’s an ongoing pity party.