sack up break up?

NB: don’t read this; it’s all crazy and emotive and not happy/sexy or even coherent.
My heart is pounding. I am in bed, it’s 02:40 in the morning and I am anxiety ridden.
Why? I don’t know; let’s figure it out.

I was kind of uneasy when I went to bed–i spent my first “whole day” of vacation with my bestest friend watching tv, doing nails, talking, eating refrigerated cheetos (this is weird, but they are WAY better cold-figured that out today) and basically slacking like a champ. Yay us! But then after we had both retired to our individual rooms the stupid anxiety started. Why hadn’t he called me today? That was weird. I spent the day ‘selling’ Demon’s existence to my friend. Explaining why I loved him to the most non-judgemental person I know. I guess I did get to talk to him when I called him to wake him earlier (per request).
**Fyi-ativan just kicked in so things are feeling less urgently anxious**
So…yeah. I sent some pathetic text messages full of lurve etc.
Finally I called him and he answered with lotsa women in the background. “I’m out drinking with some friends; are you okay?”
I wanted to say “no, I’m not okay. I’ve been laying here anxious as hell and thinking about really random horrible thoughts about my grandmother dying as I held her and the way the candle warmer I had bought made the hospital room smell of lavender & lemon and how I had my first panic attack trying to go visit her before she died but didn’t have the $ (this was like 5 years ago. I just aint right).
Gods. Bless. Ativan.
So…I guess the Gods have a hell of a sense of humor. I control things. I control so much that the only way I really relax is if someone takes that control away.
But even playing that role is temporary.
I hate that I am in love with a 23 year old. I hate it because I never expected it to feel like this; so out of control. My hatred for the fact that he may get laid tonight. That he didn’t work on Saturday night so we could spend time together online-but he was too tired.

He spends a ton of time on me; so much so that when he isn’t (oh fucking hell–here is some painfully emo shit, hold on to yer vomit people), well, when he isn’t it feels cold and wintery on my heart (I hate being in 2 minds about my own emotions. Mind 1 just yakked in my mouth a little–Mind 2 is too busy emoting).
I know what needs to happen. I either need to sack-up (this is mind 1 talking) and stop being so damned dependent on Demon. Maybe if he visits it won’t be magical anymore and I can go back to being sane and not (as) emotive. Cause damn.

Well, the ativan has really kicked in and it has removed the need to delete Demon from my life completely.
Fucking anxiety for no good reason. My theory is this is the first time I’ve taken some time off in a long while and it’s gonna take me a while to fully relax.
Now that I wrote this all down I can send his 23-year-old butt a text.
Gnite ya’ll.


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So, I’ve seen it happen in movies. At my last employer I remember being in a meeting and finding out my beloved office manager had been laid off. That sucked.
But today has been different. Today a bunch of people are being laid off. Like the kind of lay offs I’ve seen in movies. You have a security escort and 5 minutes to pack your things.
And the very mood of this place hurts me. My close sarcastic coworker tells me I emote too much, feel too much. I glare at him until he admits to being a robot.
I am emotive, I am very in tune with my feelings. That empathy is my strength…and my weakness.
Please let me make it through today. And yes, I mean emotionally. I’ve been told I’m not in danger…but really, who knows?

Public Service Announcement

Hey folks, just a quick note to let you know a couple things:
1. Sorbet is delicious. 2. If you slam a hard object into your cervix repeatedly and you have the thing where you have a lot of inside cervical cells on the outside of your cervix you will bleed.
Every. Damn. Time.
3. There will be smut this evening. I have been tasked with it.
4. I don’t so much like myself…have you ever had an infected cut? It hurts, kind of heals over trapping all that white blood cell (pus) goop. It looks better but you know deep down it’s a mess. So you pick at it, it hurts and drains, and then either re-infects or heals completely. Often this cycle will continue until it finally heals. Last night I drained the emotional wound (again). Am I ready to get a divorce – no. Am I ready to fully commit to my marriage and live without fulfilling my needs – hell no.

I’m getting there. I don’t yet know how…but I will be a whole person again someday.