I won't lie to you. I'm just hanging on here.
I feel like I'm breathing underwater, working very hard for each breath. Everything that happened in that relationship felt like a lie. I haven't had any balance since April 3, 2009. I'm not sure I'd know how balance felt anymore.
Were I a drinker, I would go on a binge, but I'm not. My drug of choice has always been food, but I find I don't even know how to feed myself anymore. I found myself, after seeing a movie today, going into a pizza shop and buying a slice. The man assumed it was "to go", seeing as how I was alone. Forces collided to make me feel ever more distraught as the evening wore on until I ended up in my bed, yelling at the dogs, ready to cry but unable to do so. Instead I sit here writing. It's always been my solace, my way of working things out.
What hurts the most is having people who barely know me rip me apart. If they knew me, they would not be so quick to judge. But they will never know me.
They will never know the hurt I have suffered.
After Joan Didion's husband died, one of the first lines she wrote in her journal was, "The question of self-pity." That's where I am right now. Isn't self-pity okay sometimes? Doesn't it help us to heal in a way, examining our innermost feelings while we go through the burning away of the epidermis? That's what it feels like to me, anyway. I have heard burn patients describe the pain of the skin being scraped from them to allow for the healing underneath. That is what I'm feeling now, only on an emotional level. Everything I believed to be true was not. Everything I gave up for her was an eternal loss. Now I am trying to grow new skin. It hurts.
It hurts so much.