I crawled under the counter, between the two hardwood stools, pulling my knees up to my chest. It hurt so much and it wouldn't fucking stop, hadn't even thought of stopping all day. I peeked out from between the stools trying to see if my neighbor's light was on. I didn't want him to hear the noises I was making, like an animal, an animal that has been hit and maimed and has dragged itself off into the woods. I took feeble puffs on my cigarette and rocked back and forth, mewling with each motion forward.

I'm such a fool. I bet everyone who knows me, even those of you who only know me for my words, could see this coming for months. Why couldn't I? I think it made it hurt even more to realize how obvious this all is, how expected I am to freak out.

Only, I wasn't expecting it. Things have been going so well since he died. I've been happy. I've been busy. I've cried sure, but not a lot. I've done all the shit that needed to be done, made all the phone calls and done all the adult crap that was required of me. I thought I could just pull this off and not look back.

It started first thing in the morning yesterday. I woke up feeling off-balance, insecure, self-loathing, afraid of being alone. I cried in the morning. I felt better. I made breakfast. I blogged. I paid some bills. At one-thirty I started crying again. I got in bed. I cried for a while. I slept for two hours. I started crying again when I got up. I went up to the corner for cigarettes.

On my way back I stopped in at my neighbor Rhonda's. We both cried a bit (her father's deathday was yesterday). I was hoping that she would want to go to a movie or something but she had plans already. I told her to call up to me when she got back, that I'd go walk Ralph with her at the beach. I went upstairs and cried some more. I called Holly who came right over.

We sat on the couch and drank wine. I cried a little bit and then I felt better. At seven we picked up Kevin and the three of us went to dinner. I drank too much red wine. I ate too much. I was loud and bossy. On the way home I made jokes about taking a xanax and just going to bed, that I'd be just fine. Tomorrow is a new day.

I was crying before I even got my door unlocked. I stumbled around my little house in the dark, crawled under the counter for a while, hating myself for ever thinking that I could do this. I made myself throw up, something I've only done 2 or 3 times in my life. I cried so loudly I was sure that one of my neighbors would become alarmed. The sounds were horrible. I couldn't believe they were coming out me. I called J. Ryan and could only sob into the phone before hanging up.

Rhonda came home and called up to me. I stumbled onto the porch, still crying. She asked me to go walking with her. I told her I couldn't, that I was a mess. She said to go anyway. We walked down to the beach. I continued crying. It was cold and the waves crashed onto the sad, drowning out my sobs. We walked for a while and Rhonda just let me cry. After we got back J. Ryan showed up. He sat on the couch with me and let me cry too.

I didn't think I would ever stop but eventually I did.
8:54:22 PM     comment []