dying inside // undertones of controlfreakishness

on love..

A and i broke up in the early hours of sunday morning, the 27th. i’m going through the motions and the emotions- constantly checking my phone, re-reading my messages, reloading my emailbox. reading the last email. hoping, slapping myself for hoping, hoping again. i’ve never had an amicable breakup in my life. i’ve also never loved so strongly and intensely in my life. and my insides are wilting, quashing, strung out, salt on raw flesh. my brain is in overdrive telling me things i already know, the proverbial “it’s for the best” + all the recent memories that support wholeheartedly that statement. every other part of me questions them, is it true, really, is it true? can’t be, bad dream, it’s not so bad. my heart plays skeptic to my head’s better sense. the head is obstinate because these months have been documented, and i have to accept that my heart just wants to pull the wool over my eyes.

i am overwhelmed with loss, grief, and mourning. i feel an accute pain from the death of my every intention, the death of my best laid plans, the loss of a most precious possession and the loss of control. not my control over him (something i always wrongly wished i had but thankfully eluded me), but my stake in the story. how will it end? how will this pan out? i cannot help but feel that natural death is an inevitability, and mourn the futility of (my sometimes desperate hand at) twisting fate. all these things that were mine are no longer. i feel like i have to close the door to a world that i am not willing to leave behind, yet a world whose perpetuation i simply cannot and must not hold out for. the wheels of denial are also turning fast and furious, along with gears of doubt, gears of shame. and then there are the tears, hot and salty, and the constant impulse to bang my head against the wall repeatedly.

i would have done anything for him, except be someone i am not. and it hurts so badly because i tried, and failed, but sometimes i still wish i could be, but i know better than that, and i am better than that.

and just like that, everything slipped out of my grasp.

the z4, that face, those 10 years

arg! arg! arg!

10 years down the road S and i go on our first proper “date” which we jokingly call the 10th anniversary of our friendship. reserved table at the new, beautiful PS cafe at palais renaissance, movie at super huge GV grand screen AND zipping around town in his BMW z4.

i am so materialistic i could literally kill myself. i am disgusted yet smug and pleased. i tell myself i have been deprived of being happy, of lightheartedness, of good treatment for a long time. i tell myself i deserve to know what it is like after trying to live without it for quite a while. i want a gentleman to come along and treat me as a lady, and pamper me and love me and let me be.

i ask myself what makes me happy. i think about A all day, but the overriding sentiment is desperation, coupled with the realisation that our relationship has plummeted to “let’s try to save this” levels. and honestly, i really still do want to try.. not ready to give up yet.

but all of last night and today all i wanted to do was to kiss S. at first it was “kiss S in his z4″, but then i realised that i would kiss S anywhere. and then i thought about the 10 years of to-ing and fro-ing we’ve had, all the things we’ve said and the things that we thought were better shelved for another time or maybe never.

and i think to myself, god, he’s not even good looking. but yet when i looked across the table at dinner at his face, the face i’ve known yet not known for such a long time, the crinkly eyes and unkempt hair, the sharp chin- i couldn’t help but smile. and subsequently i lost all train of thought.

that fucking z4!!!!!!!!!!

on the topic of control freakishness

a note my personal life- i’m in a reee..lationshiii..p, kind of. it was one of those where it happened fast and furious and i think in a different world and if we were different people that intensity of feeling would have led to marriage in something like 6 months.. or less. what i’m trying to say is we started off wanting to be with no one else forever and ever amen. and then crapshitfuck happened and now i don’t know what we are. together but not. something like that.

anyway my point is that i have a problem. i’m either in 100% and i love 100%, rolled in with all the bad stuff like expectations and demands and such, or i’m out. no love, no expectations, no nothing. i’m not the give-a-bit, take-a-bit, tell-a-bit, leave-the-rest-for-later-or-never-at-all type. i want it ALL, to KNOW all, to TELL all, and i want it NOW goddamnnit.

ok. i’m sleepy. but more topics on control freakishness coming up. um, stay tuned?

whimsicality and relief

a preliminary psychiatric assessment has determined that my depression is situational and not a result of innate melancholia which is apparently, really, all gloom, doom, darkness and hopelessness, and an actual problem. innate melancholia.. wow. almost makes me wish i had it because my ignorant mind is thinking 1. on my worst days, oh seriously how much worse can it get, and 2. it sounds damned cool. i’ve got innate melancholia. lactobacillus acidophilus.

but on a more serious note, relief.

maybe what i’m really saying is i want to embrace it

i hate emo bloggers. i hate cryptic too, it’s like really? honestly? no one gives a shit about how you wish you were doing this, being that; how your thoughts overwhelm you all the time. but here’s the catch. i am the holy mother of them all; my innate sense of self loathing runneth over like fuggin’ rivers. my aunt tells me in her sage-voice when she senses the opportunity, “you have to learn to love yourself”- maybe one day i will see the truth (beauty, freedom and love) in that because all i think about either way is 1. i’m too old to be emo and 2. i’m too old to be an angry ranting little dwarf. and during my sudden bursts of maturity, 3. i’m too old to be blogging. which makes me the biggest, most hateful cliche alive- the angry, cynical, emotional, depressed quarter-centurian going through an identity crisis. the mere thought of which makes me want to lie in bed all day counting the rotations of my ceiling fan.

as a side note, i am not a dwarf. i am actually awkwardly tall.