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Feb. 1st, 2005 11:39 pmFor the past two weeks, I have lain awake almost every night unable to sleep. Pushing my fingers through the plush fur of one of the cats. Staring at the dim blue light thrown up against my ceiling from my silent stereo. Smoking endless cigarettes, to make tiny comet trails in the dark. Getting up to finally pace the apartment in cold bare feet until the exhaustion finally beats me down into submission.
The past two months are not real to me. I write endless lists of things I need to do. I organize, I clean, I throw out the old. Looking in the mirror, I see a stranger every time. Poppy red for rememberance. Deep black for mourning. If I change enough of my surroundings, the pain will finally go away. I think I'll decorate my bathroom in Ouija boards.
A phone call last night brought me to the edge of tears. My friend, who I haven't spoken to in so long, told me of how strong I seemed. Discussion of my emotions became verboten, my voice cracked as it was and I struggled to remain in control of myself. Now is not the time for displays of histrionics. Now is not the time to outwardly grieve.
Yesterday, I talked of how I feared someone I knew was going to break under the pressure, if she continued swimming in the current she was. Angel smiled at me and said, You're beginning to crack around the edges, pretty. Let it come.
But, I can't.
The past two months are not real to me. I write endless lists of things I need to do. I organize, I clean, I throw out the old. Looking in the mirror, I see a stranger every time. Poppy red for rememberance. Deep black for mourning. If I change enough of my surroundings, the pain will finally go away. I think I'll decorate my bathroom in Ouija boards.
A phone call last night brought me to the edge of tears. My friend, who I haven't spoken to in so long, told me of how strong I seemed. Discussion of my emotions became verboten, my voice cracked as it was and I struggled to remain in control of myself. Now is not the time for displays of histrionics. Now is not the time to outwardly grieve.
Yesterday, I talked of how I feared someone I knew was going to break under the pressure, if she continued swimming in the current she was. Angel smiled at me and said, You're beginning to crack around the edges, pretty. Let it come.
But, I can't.
