Song for today: Grey by Ani Difranco.

Everything is grey today.  Possibly black.  I am heartbroken and I hate it.  Of course I hate it.  Who likes heartbreak?  And I know that it will keep hitting me, over and over, especially when I keep trying to run away from it.  I’m tired of running.  But I don’t know if I can cope with having a broken heart, so there I go again, running away, running to this, running to that, desperately trying to find some respite from this unbearable pain.  It is such a huge loss.  It feels like a meteor has hit me and left such a huge crater that I just don’t know what to do with it, and I keep chucking stuff in, hoping that it will make it better.  And it can’t.  Nothing can make this better.  Nothing can fill it because it can’t be filled.  It is huge and unavoidable, no matter how much I run, no matter how hard I try to fill it.

“What kind of paradise am I looking for?  I’ve got everything I want, and still I want more”.

I had something so special.  And now I don’t have it anymore.  And I have to live with that, and it hurts. All I can do today is cry, only I can’t even do that properly in case I get my stupid chin wound wet.  The wound that is a direct testament to how far I am willing to run away from of all this pain.  Of course I’m ok, at a wedding a month and a half after I ended the best relationship of my life with one of the loveliest people I know, who I still love, who was supposed to be there with me, celebrating love, revelling in our love, talking about when we would eventually honour it in the same way.  I’m fine.  I can cope with it.  I can cope with everything, right?  Because that’s what I do.  Only I don’t, at all, do I?  I just slap a plaster over a gaping wound and tell it to stop bleeding, and get pissed off when it doesn’t.

I need to stop running, and I don’t know how.  I don’t know if I can just sit with it and ride it out.  I don’t know how much of a friend I can be to myself right now.  I am trying so hard, but it’s difficult and I keep fucking up.  And that’s normal, but I hate fucking up, and so I try and deal with that in the same way too.  Avoidance.  Denial.  Distraction.  I am so good at looking after other people but I don’t really know how to look after myself when the going gets tough.  It’s a very difficult lesson to learn.

“And my little pink heart is on its little brown raft, floating out to sea.”

I wish there was something that could make it better.  How can something be so right, so beautiful, and yet not enough?  How can that be ok?  How can I reconcile letting go of someone so special, when they love me so much that they will sit there in A&E for hours with me while I vomit non-stop and bleed over myself because I drank so much that I fell and gashed my face?  How I could I not be happy with that?  I am allowed to want more but it feels so wrong.  So ungrateful, so heartless, so unthinking.  And yet all I did for months was think.  About how I was feeling, why it wasn’t working for me anymore, how to save it.  I couldn’t save it.  Sometimes things are worth saving but still can’t be saved.  It seems implausible to me.  I understand why people pray.  I wish I could do it.  I need something to hold onto, because I feel like everything that I know has vanished and I am without a compass.

Recently there has been such a wild oscillation between Life Is Great and Life Is Shit.  And today, life is so shit that even Holby City couldn’t cheer me up.  Instead it was just a reminder of who I am; like Tara, a control freak, unable to ask for help, causing problems because she can’t be honest about how she’s feeling.  Like Eddi, fucking up, taking stupid risks, pouring all her energy into something destructive because she’s hurting and doesn’t want to deal with it.  And worst of all, someone who identifies with Holby characters.  That’s when you know things are bad.

So here we are.  Grey.

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