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Adventures in Self-Doubt.

November 29, 2013

The city is always has a fabulously decadent vibe about it on the night before Thanksgiving, In one neighborhood, the screams of drunkenly stumbling bros and their freezing cold (and drunk and stumbling) woo girl dates fill the air. The streets are filled with police looking to win their station’s monthly drunk and disorderly headcount pool. Projectile vomiting from lightweights (consider: it’s not yet midnight) splashes the sidewalks, buildings, and unfortunate passers-by with varying shades of the rainbow, but biliously hued, as if the rainbow had barely survived The Great Depression. The smell of rot and stale beer manages to permeate the cold air. Testosterone flows out the door of every bar; the bouncers, each of them yearning to look more bad-ass than the next, do nothing to improve the situation. At times, the odor of greasy food and slutty perfume overwhelm the reeking vomit. Inside the overcrowded clubs and pubs and dive bars, skinny girls shimmy their short-skirted asses against each other with evident desperation to attract a man. The only thing better than sexy lesbians is sexy lesbians who are DTF with each other AND a guy. The less attractive single girls dance with their stereotypical gay best friends; these are the cute little tight-asses who look like the Pet Shop Boys sound. Whether any of these folk get fucked is no concern of mine.

It all ends in screaming pain and degradation for them.

MTIA and I bob and weave our way through the madness as we leave the bar and talk about the fastest way home. We have wine to drink, the soundtrack for The God That Comes to listen to, and insane amounts of cuddling to do. As usual, we talk endlessly, curled up together on the couch. We don’t listen to the soundtrack, but watch silly videos on the Internet. We fall asleep somewhere around 4am while we’re still curled up during an episode of A Bit of Fry and Laurie, very happy.

This is all well and good, because I’m about to emotionally crash. Hard. I have been a disaster the past few weeks. I can’t think straight. I LOOK like a disaster. I feel like a disaster. I keep ending up with dirt under my nails (this drives me insane), the house is trashed, and I don’t want to do anything. New medications and pain medication leave me zombified. And now I have Alien Sex Fiend stuck in my head.

The CAB left the apartment on Thanksgiving, which meant MTIA got to spend his desired Thanksgiving Aloneness. As a result, I haven’t heard from him in over 24 hours. I sent him one message on Facebook with a cute cartoon attached, but he hasn’t read it. I will NOT send anything else. I wanted him to see something that would make him smile. Things have been shitty back and forth between The CAB and MTIA. To think I was capable of bringing him joy was moronic. He does not love me. He can only love when someone hurts him. He’s made that abundantly clear, if not always through words, then through actions. Of course, he described himself as being one of the most well-adjusted people he knows the other day, and only a few days prior had he talked about how fucked up we both are, so I’m not sure I can trust what he really thinks from one day to the next.

It all ends in screaming pain and degradation for us, too. Or silence. I’m experiencing a lot of that right now. I wonder who he’s fucking tonight that isn’t me? Why aren’t I out on a Friday night? I could be getting fucked. But we all know that’s not what I want. I want MTIA to trust me. Okay, tomorrow I’m going to sober up. I’m going to clean the house. I might get groceries. It doesn’t matter who MTIA is fucking; it only matters that isn’t you, Twig. If he loved you, you wouldn’t ever have to wonder where he is or was. All you need to know is that he isn’t here and that you are wasting your time. Quit waiting for him to change…

I just want to cry. MTIA, why can’t I just freaking QUIT you??? (Yeah, I went there.)

Of course, there are the usual nibblings of attention from TLTL, but I’m feeling more “over  him” than usual.

Fuck. It. I’m a eat some Thai food and pretend that Vicodin is doing something for my pain right now. I’m going to pretend I’m not irritated that side effects from the new MAOI medication have kicked in (dry mouth, hallucinations), but that nothing has improved otherwise. How can drug manufacturers create a drug whose side effects are instantaneous but whose actual purpose takes weeks to accomplish? Don’t answer. It’s rhetorical. It’s only that I’m highly annoyed, highly lonely, and am basically high all the time right now because of the pain killers.

Fuck. It.

Also, I think I’m now afraid to be on the second floor of my house at night. I’m worried. I don’t know why. I think the idea of empty space on the first floor beneath me weirds me out. Great. Now I’m afraid of people AND large spaces.

MTIA would totally understand. But he isn’t here.

I have to figure this out.


From → fiction, rants

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