Can I keep writing late at night about my truest and most honest and vulnerable feelings?
Is that okay with you?
It feels a little wrong, it feels a little dirty, but yet…it feels almost necessary. It’s beginning to feel like survival.
Tonight is a night.
The absolute worst kind of night.
I feel so alone. I feel abandoned. I’m worried about if I can even survive the next few hours.
Started there. He’s made it clear he’s “struggling” this week too.
FUCKING COOL, BRO. Wish we could’ve weathered the storm together!!!!
My best friend? I opened up to her a little bit today. But I’m too afraid to open to flood gates of how I’m really truly feeling.
Shit. It’s escalated quickly from bad to worse.
I don’t have the words. I don’t know if I want them.
All i know is that I’m hanging out on the bathroom floor In, historically, my most tragic spot.
I’ll be okay, I always am.
(Because that’s the most tragic lie we need to tell ourselves tonight, right?)
I don’t have enough emotional intelligence in me to write further this evening. Or, rather, I do…perhaps just not the energy.
I’m broken. I’m alone. And I’m trying to stay alive and stay present for those who by the grace of whatever God there is have engaged in conversation with me.
Yeah. It’s one of those nights. The absolute worst kind of them.
It feels tragic. But maybe doesn’t have to end up so.
My best friend has shown up.
My husband is…..I’m not sure. I’m still laying on a heap of towels on the bathroom floor. And yes, that’s 1,000,000% my own doing. He wished I were in bed with him. I just can’t.
When I feel so broken, I just can’t.
Maybe I’ll end the evening alive. Maybe not. At this point, I don’t know, and I’m not sure if I care.
I’m just really, desperately, want to stop being a burden on other people.
I wish they would stop trying to convince me that I’m not.