Bed is Scary

I'm still up at 1:11am even though I have to be up at 8 tomorrow morning. Why am I up? Have I been sorting and putting away my stuff or being otherwise productive? No, I've been reading someone's blog for the last hour.

Bed isn't scary because there might be monsters or rapists under it. There isn't even an under-the-bed for something to be lurking in. Bed is scary because I know when I go to bed the loneliness will hit me like a tsunami crashing into me and crushing me under the huge weight of my sadness. There won't be any wonderful person for me to cuddle with, and no one will kiss me in the dark, wish me good night, and tell me they love me, leaving me with a sense of contentment and happiness and safety before I drift off to sleep.

I know myself, and I know that as soon as I get into bed and snuggle my pillow instead of you, and say goodnight to the teddy bear you gave me instead of you, and maybe even (depending on how pathetic I'm feeling at that moment in time), whisper "I love you" to you even though you're not there, I'll dissolve into tears which I'll stifle in a pillow because I don't want to wake up Dad and Ruth with my crying and make them pity my sadness. I'll start to try to space out my nose-blowings because I'll be worried that if I blow it too often, they'll automatically know that I'm crying even if they can't hear me doing it.

I imagine you're asleep right now, after having driven as far as you could. I wish I knew where you were, although I don't know why. Knowing where you are won't change the fact that I both miss you an incredible amount, and hate life and uncontrollable circumstances for separating us, maybe for good, on the day of our four year anniversary.

I'm grateful that we got the time that we did, but now that I've had a taste of what it's like to not only live in the same city but also in the same room as you, I'm afraid I'm terribly spoiled.

The thought of us not working out, if we do grow apart and find we're better off completely breaking up, makes me feel so tired. I don't want to start dating again. I don't want to have to work my way through the assholes and weirdos and Ed Hardy-wearers of the world to try to find another person who makes me as happy as you do. I've never met a boyfriend through a random encounter. I don't know how to flirt with people I don't know. It makes me anxious.

I alternate between intense sadness and intense rage. The rage is because I'm so angry at life for being shitty to us like this. I want to fly apart and break things and scream, but I'm not sure if that will make me feel any better, and then I'd have broken shit to clean up.

I've run out of things to say right now, so I guess I'll go be brave and get in bed.

I miss you.