I'm falling apart.
Today was spent half-heartedly trying to keep my composure in front of people I had no interest in being around. Last night was considerably more hellish...spending six hours in a room with myself took its toll.
I hadn't cried when I left that night. I knew that at some point, the tears that hid deep in my chest would well up and spill forth as only they could. There was nowhere else for them to go. When they find that home in the empty cavity of my chest where warmth and hope and self-respect once were, they stay. They settle in like an angry, bristling beast, sensitive to the most delicate touch. And all night I fought those tears, feeling them rise up only to somehow lull them back to complacency again.
But the moment I laid down, that moment I pulled the soft pink blanket up under my chin, I fell apart. The tears squeezed themselves out and filled the corners of my eyes, running down my temples and getting caught in my hair. Those hot, salty tears felt like an admission of guilt, as if me telling myself what I had done was wrong was not enough. I needed to cry to truly understand the weight of my actions.
I couldn't convince myself to sleep. All I could do was turn back and forth and back and forth...
Every time I opened my eyes, there was no more than a second or two of normalcy before that bitter, horrid feeling would shake its way through my entire body and remind me...yes, you are wretched.
Work felt like hell today. I had to quell the urge to cry every time I was alone, and around every corner I just hoped and prayed to see a happy man, not one who was disappointed in me. My phone seemed always ready to ring, though no one ever called. I wanted so badly to answer the phone and hear a warm "come back home", but nothing.
When I escaped work, all I could think about was him. I forced myself to drink some juice earlier that morning, and forced a bagel into my stomach later...nothing seems appealing. All I can focus on is not messing this up...
And tonight, as I left jiu jitsu each step brought forth more sadness and hatred for myself. Those tears kept pushing and pushing and pushing, until finally, with my hand on the doorknob to my apartment...I let it out.
There is no one in my apartment to see me cry. No one to ask me why I am crying. No one to tell me to stop. All there is is me and my tears and my regret.
All I wanted was that phone call from him.
And I couldn't think of anything else...
So, against all the rules I have for myself, against all the rules of dealing with people who need space...I called him.
As the phone rang, I hoped that he wouldn't answer...I hoped that I could leave the message I so desperately wanted to leave..."I miss you...I probably shouldn't be calling you, but I need you know how important you are to me...I miss you so much..." and hope that it would somehow make a difference in my trial.
But he answered.
Each word was strained and unnatural, forced through a wall of choked back sobs...he sounded alright. He was with friends. I didn't want to keep him. We said goodbye...
I fell apart again.
All I know is this...he answered.