Eminem coined a line, “trying to process this loss is making me nauseous” and today I get it.  I think a person can only take so many blows before they physically become ill.  Maybe it’s just that the older I get, I feel I should be able to take the blows more gracefully.  Accept them easily.  Make peace with what is.  But it’s not coming so easy.  Parts of me have been fractured in 2014 and I don’t know that I still have any faith left that they will heal.  The people I trust are few; and especially if you have a penis.  And I know it’s unfair, but sorry, twice bitten in one year.  And MAYBE that wouldn’t be so bad, but I lost my Chloe too.  I look over at her pillow and I just wish she were here right now.  It wouldn’t make the pain go away, but it’d be bearable.  She’d listen and though she no longer was a kisser the last few years, she’d know.  Dog always knew.  And when she didn’t know, she needed help getting around, or fed, or let outside.  So at least my body would have something to do.  The silence now is deafening.  The defeat in the ring has left me with parts of me wide open and bleeding.

And, I’m human.  So I fall into the “what did I do wrong” trap.  The trap where you analyze every day, every message, and say, “What made me fall out of his priority list?”  And while it’s human, it’s stupid.  I know that.  My big girl panties are saggin, but they are still there enough for me to know it takes two to fuck a good thing up.  But it depletes my energy.  And then creates insomina.  It’s nearly 6pm.  I will have been awake for 17 hours soon.  17 grueling hours with nothing but my own thoughts, the messages, and then the images showing me what a fool I was [again].

Not to brag, but in spite of my terrible habit of picking emotionally unavailable men or those who want to screw around [or both], I’m like, really cool.  And Mr. Recent was plagued by the still fresh memory of those before him who abandoned me without explanation. Or tried to change me.  Or cheated.  So in all fairness, I got issues from that which linger like a public restroom.  And in previous cases, for whatever messed up reasons I still can’t explain, it was easier to be gone.  But I shielded myself and Mr. Recent wasn’t completely let into my life.  I thought some private examination of my feelings [knowing they weren’t all justified but needing to feel them out] and working through it on my own would be fruitful.  Twas not.  In fact, I’m giving him the benefit here when I say it didn’t help.  At all.  I was hypersensitive to comments that may or may not have been 100% serious, but they raised red flags inside me.  I should have asked for clarification.

Maybe I hold people to a much too high standard.  Chloe would tell me if she could.  But I pretty much hear the conversation in my head and she’d probably say, “Mama, he’s a retard and you straight up asked for boundaries between this lady & Mr. Recent and got none.”  Still helping me though gone.  Doesn’t change the breaking pieces though.  Maybe one day I’ll heal that.  Dear 2015, don’t be such an asshole!