Late Night Crowded Lonely

I’m taking a pause on the life story kick I’ve been on, just for a little bit. It’s too depressing to recount it all together. Hiatus time.

I’m too tired to proofread, so sorry for the errors.

Anyway, I got married five days ago. I’m in Orlando with my husband, and he’s asleep. I would love to say I’m happy. I would love to say everything is fine, now that I’ve met someone I enjoy being with.

But that pesky depression that has me wrapped around its finger. He’s inside, knocked the fuck out, and I’m out here in the dark, half a step away from a panic attack and on the cusp of the exact opposite of greatness.

Maybe it’s about time to tell him about the assault, about how it’s extremely difficult to sleep with anyone too close to me, because I feel trapped. I should tell him how hard it is to breathe when someone’s arm is around me, because I feel like I’m about to be dragged off somewhere. I should tell him what happened. It’s the right thing to do.

And I plan to. Every day I wake up planning to say something, but then I think about the aftermath. He would be afraid to come anywhere near me, because he doesn’t want to hurt me, and that’s just not fair. It’s not fair of me to make someone nervous about touching his wife. I should have told him before.

I should have told him before.

I had a panic attack in the middle of the night a few days ago, and he was so great with it. I know he’d be great about this, and that’s part of the problem. I almost wish he would be awful about it. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad. Maybe I wouldn’t freak out and panic. Maybe.

Sometimes I still can’t believe it happened. It hasn’t even been a year since Chicago, but it’s still almost dreamlike in a way. Like it was happening to me and I was watching it happen to me from the outside at the same time, if that makes sense.

I only told one person about it, and she just doesn’t count. We’re basically the same person. It also just doesn’t really affect mine and hers’ relationship. It’s different with him. It will change everything.

I need time to myself, but he’s always around. He’s always there. I don’t have a minute to be sad by myself and disengage from my life for a little while. I’m so used to being alone. I don’t know how to be with someone else. It’s turning out that I’m even worse at being in a relationship than I thought I was. What the fuck am I doing?

What the fuck am I doing?

An Ode to Anxiety

Below is the shittiest compilation of words ever to be typed into the fickle debauchery contained in the interweb’s cyberspace, but writing this horrendous mess placated me through a full-blown anxiety attack.

And for this vomit of words, I am extremely grateful.

I know that I’m
Going to school
I know that I’m
Losing my mind
But I won’t
Take my
Laptop, with me
Because I’m not
In control
of me
I know of my
I know that I’m
Insane, slightly
I know that we
Have to believe
That things won’t go
Oh so, badly
I’m losing my
Mind in
This song
I know that my
Is gone
But this is where
Our souls
Are drawn
And this is what
We lost
Them on
If I stop this
And close
My eyes
I can’t give you
A reason
This song is so
But I feel like
Panic is fading
I know that I
Have lost
My mind
But I’ll leave those
Dead Fears
This is the end
Please don’t
Make fun
I know that you
Will laugh
A Ton
I know of my
I know that I’m

Everyone has something that keeps them from falling apart. Mine are nonsensical words that I later refuse to acknowledge came from my pretentious hand.

My lord, this is my 100th post. Not a milestone I am particularly proud of, at the moment.

At least I can breathe, again.