It was the moment where I saw myself gagging on the floor because I so psychotically cried on the floor, with so much strain, that I knew I sucked as a human being. I know, it sounds really harsh and there are worse things one can do to really suck as a human being, but I am serious. To my standards; this does not work.
I guess everyone has a bad break up so why am I special. I’m not I know. I don’t care this isn’t about me being fucking special! If I was special then I wouldn’t be fucking going through this fucking break up!
Note to self; IT HAS BEEN 8 MONTHS YOU BLITHERING IDIOT FUCK OFF.
I know I sound really mean to myself. This whole, “girl you gotta love yourself” thing isn’t my forte. I love myself when I don’t fucking act like a bitch vagina. I just made that up, it seems to fit somehow although I can’t work out what I actually meant by it.
So, back to the floor; and why I have my revelations on this floor I don’t know. Maybe my floor is holy. Maybe people will flock it it. Come to see it, kneel before it….okay I am hedging.
I fucked up. I spent almost 8 months of basically never (except once) giving in to the urge to call the fuck up and talk. Not even talk but just fight or something I don’t know. I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t. It would come and go. Today I cried almost all day intermittently. I am not a big crier. I am an angry person more than a crier. So…I didn’t do so well. It’s fucking really impossible to do anything while crying. When angry, one can multitask. Work, shop, drive, walk, breathe, read, whatever. When you cry…you can’t fucking do shit. But because I have shit to do I couldn’t not function because I was distraught. I have this motto to just keep fucking going until you’re fucking dead on the floor…I still don’t know if that’s actually proven successful in my life or not.
So I went on with my business, while I
cried. I cleaned, while I cried. I actually went for my daily workout and run, I cried a lot then, which strangely helped for motivation. I came home and tried to distract myself. I had no one to talk to. My only life line is a girlfriend of mine in England who already spent 2 hours on the phone with me in the morning discussing my horrible relapse into “fuck-you” insanity, as I call it, (because it’s literally saying fuck-you to me as I self destroy all my neatly stacked up thoughts and logical patterns), and she’s asleep now, hopefully happy and none the wiser that I am about to fail us.
I fucking thought, well jeez, 8 months and this still doesn’t feel right, maybe I’ll change and actually talk to him and see if that helps. Oh yeah, great fucking idea. Besides listening to him tell me he tried, he tried, he tried and I never let him fix it because I showed him how much I hated him (which I had to explain that if you hurt someone, they’re not exactly going to be happy with you. Even as you try to fix it…you have to make it up to them man….bloody hell is he thick?) and that he was going to call me this week to let me know that most likely he will be starting a relationship with another girl, I did say my piece.
I told him he should have tried harder. That I didn’t sleep with someone else and that I didn’t start another relationship. I was hoping he’d figure it out but he never did, yada-yada-yada. Back and forth, back and forth and nothing was resolved. But we both said what we said…and here is the Pièce de résistance, he URGENTLY cut me off and said “I gotta take this call” and I knew it was her and I asked and he URGENTLY confirmed and I almost threw up on my iPhone (which I really am starting to hate since it’s been nothing but a gateway to hell with this fucking Instagram, Facebook, texting bullshit it lets me see…or rather, I use to self-hurt by reading those god-awful, vomit inducing, death provoking comments he leaves on her fucking stupid pictures). I URGENTLY said bye.
If I thought I was crying before, I was fucking wrong. I haven’t cried like this in a long fucking time. Well, as I said…it ended up with me in a weird, disgusting shape gagging on the floor and basically retching till I felt my head would explode. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to live. I felt it, I actually wanted my heart to just stop. I didn’t want to feel it. I then thought “wow, what the fuck? What is this?! I can’t feel this?! I’m fucking almost 25! I can’t be this type of person! No for the love of god!”. I tried calling my friend in NY. Almost lifeless at this point I couldn’t even hold the fucking phone to my ear…what a loser. He picked up but he was out with people. He heard it in my voice a bit. Asked me if I was okay. I lied. I perked up and told him I was just checking in. What I wanted to do was scream and vomit again from crying and say “oh my fucking god fly over here before I can’t breathe anymore”. I didn’t. I didn’t want to show someone how fucked up I can be. Even if he knows, I think I can’t play that role anymore. I am not the one who gets to be this way. It’s like seeing your Dad lose it or something. It’s disheartening but also shakes your stability. I don’t want to do that to the people that are close to me.
I hung up and proceeded to lose it again, worse and worse. I knew I was at a dangerous point though. I guess if there is a time where this would happen then it would be this kind of time but I had the worst shit going through my head. In the time it took me to drag myself to my room and collapse on the floor I had literally thought of every possible way to end everything. Just fucking implode and die. No more work, no more anything. I didn’t want to do or be anything. Pure, horrific, apathy. I tried dialing my mother twice. The calls failed. Good because I would have really disappointed her for being like this. That’s after she probably would have come to the rescue but still.
The retching wouldn’t stop so I dragged myself to the bathroom. Nothing came out. Oh yeah I forgot to eat dinner. Smart, that should help keep me stable in times of stress…being hungry,! Good job, you half-wit. Since 1/4 of my body was up I decided to push and stand up all the way. My legs were literally no longer in the control of my own mind. I dragged myself around the house touching things. I told my self, OUT LOUD…seriously, things like “good job, you touched that so well! Wow excellent. That’s really good, good job, yes that’s good, man that was very good.” I fucking lost it man. Seriously. I just kept thinking, I gotta take care of myself. Me. Not someone else. I am at a point where I should be able to handle…this thing. This cannot be me really. So I “walked” around my little apartment touching things and wailing for about 40 minutes.
He texted me somewhere in between that “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you at the end. I just couldn’t continue talking about this and not knowing what to do.”
To which I replied: “it’s fine. do what you were already doing as I said. I didn’t talk to you this whole time because I didn’t want to confuse you….obviously this is what happens. it’s okay. “
He then proceeded “I just want you to know, I never did anything intentionally to make an effect for you, I just did them to try to handle something in my life” and I gracefully, or not so gracefully, said: “Just keep growing the little seed you planted. If it’s good, then no one really can say anything. Me included. Don’t worry. Thanks for talking it was nice to hear you.”
Knife through the heart, complete. Begin another 20 minutes of walking around, touching things, crying/laughing/talking to myself insanity. Then I sat down. Then I started writing this even though this whole time I feel scared that I have to admit I was so dramatic. That I can sink so low. I feel sorry for myself. That I have this pressure to be excellent and that I am truly able to be but that I can also emote all of this horrible shit that I feel when something like this happens.
Right now I have the worst stomach ache, probably from churning up all the bile when retching like a dick. I’ve been having horrible nightmares at night these past 2 days. I thought maybe it’s because I eat before bed but I think I’m gonna have to eat now before I burn a hole through my stomach lining…although that might help end it all….KIDDING okay, it’s okay, it’a okay.
Do I want to post this? No not really. Will I? I think my insanity speaks for itself:
Just keep fucking going until you’re fucking dead on the floor.
I also have a feeling that that wouldn’t even stop me.
I was just thinking, I really am the infinite improbability drive…I end up anywhere and at any time without notice. I’m tired.