Heat of the summer

 I've been listening to a lot of Young the Giant over the past week.  The songs tend not to be overly complex in structure, and I like the drumwork and the vocals.  Usually I have no idea what the hell the grandiose or obscure lyrics are referring to (jokes, jokes). That's probably the band's downfall I suppose, some of the ideas get too big or too vague? But when they nail it man, ugh. Earworms all the way. I've been really digging the tracks 'Simplify', 'Call Me Back' and I like '12 Fingers' too. Of course ''Apartment' has been a shower song for me for ages, I totally love it. I could listen to Sameer Gadhia all day.

I oscillate between feeling nothing and feeling as if my heart will burst forth from my chest.

 Another word. Anhedonia. 

 I am weary.  

So very weary.

I'm in a dark place. The nightmares are more or less all the time. I see my dad a lot, whether I elected to walk away long ago or not. I see Chris, though a lot less frequently. I see Dan. 

IF I ever date again, I pray the person embody things I hold dear: truthfulness, compassion, wisdom, humor.  Perhaps even mastery of the art of the comma;)

  

I'm angry. You all hurt me so much. And I'm realising I didn't deserve it. But I was your punching bag because you needed me to be. People like Dan even seek the world's broken people like me out to use and abuse, to build themselves up. I'm starting to realize this now. 

But I'm tired of being tired and angry. I want more. 

Especially after each continued day at work. Yesterday within the span of four hours there were three codes and three deaths. Three babies died before his or her parents. The unit was hushed. The other parents stood in doorframes silently praying two thoughts--confirned by my own patient's mother: one was for the child and the child family, the other that this day not come for his or her own child. After staying hours late to help, my patient's mom looked at me, called me over and pulled me over into her arms--she could see what my dad and Chris and Dan never could. That I needed to do this job to protect my babies. That I believed in it. That I truly thought of it as a calling from God. But that really and truly some days it haunted a piece of my soul and broke my spirit. I sobbed in her arms--the child that I knew was dying was screaming and terrified in her last minutes awake on earth, her mother's last memories were this and would probably always loop over this, and two families were next door to one another screaming in grief as their babies died much too young before them, as one witnessed the others grief. 

God is so good. The world is so big and good. And I tell you I felt joy today watching my patient's twin hold his hand at the bedside. But I also could not express my grief when that same twin broke down sobbing as he left his brother's side. If I could shelter them and protect them from the world's cruelties I would. I want to hold them the way that mother held me. 

Anyway I want to feel better but I have a lot of work to do to get there. I know I can do it though. I'm one tough fuck, I do know that by now.

 I think I need to move.

I love living alone sometimes.  But when you live in 600 square feet and go through the same spaces alone after being part of an us, there are ghosts everywhere. And the space is already cramped without having to feel the absence of a warm body so harshly. 

You are still everywhere. And when you were here I didn't think I even wanted you. That's the honest, naked truth. It's hard to sit with. I don't know if I ever loved you or now that you're gone, I just obsess over what isn't there.  It seems cruel that while I never particularly liked your hugs or spooning or being physically close, now it is all I crave.  I used to want to get off the phone and have silence when you texted, and now that my phone is silent it is squeezing out the pulp from this mascerared heart. 

The way you use me for sex cuts me deeply. Because I feel a closeness that quite literally does not exist.  I am castoff and discarded, I am gathering dust beneath your bed.  It is cold here.  And I wonder when I will want someone who isn't you.  Because every day there is you everywhere, and it's hard to imagine life without you.  This is the cruelest existence, to want to be seen and heard and adored by someone who probably wouldn't care if you were alive or dead.  I feel dirty and ashamed, I am a kid old all over again and wondering what I did wrong, punishing myself daily for crimes unknown. 

I am so tired.  I just want to love you and be loved by you.

 The movies always makes madness out to be so glamorous.  Heartbreak has a glint to it.

But it's all dull and ugly and utterly exhausting. 

I love you and it makes me sick.  I hate myself for it.  All through Covid I had no one because of this insane love, this punishing unhealthy lust.  I've been all alone for so long when I've had so many opportunities to be with people. Knowing that it's all entity my fault makes it so much worse. 

I truly hate myself. And I hate being this lonely.