Sick Brain

You really hurt me. You really did. We saw each other the Sunday before I went to detox. You even seemed to want to see me on that Thursday. Too bad we were both busy on the two days before I went in.

You were in touch with me during that time, in a calculatedly caring way. At the time, I was just glad you to hear from you. But the day I told you I was coming back into town, nothing. Silence. 

I thought we were beginning to be open enough with each other for you to tell me something, anything, about how you've been feeling. Let's back up, though. Putting aside any delusions I may have had about you, or us, I thought you were at least a good enough person to be honest with me. I would have been hurt if you didn't want to see me anymore. I would have been hurt, sure, but at least I would have gotten some sort of closure.

Instead, you're the asshole I can't forgive. You're also the asshole occupying too many of my brainwaves. I've been dreaming about you nearly every night, whether you're seducing me or I'm confronting you in a measured way. It is maddening.

I sent you a text after you didn't pick up my single phone call to you. This was three days after my return. It's all right that you didn't pick up; we had never spoken on the phone anyway. I said not to feel bad for not responding. I said I knew you probably had a lot going on. I made a lame pun, an attempt at levity. After a week of silence, I sent you one more text. I said, "Now you should feel bad," to more maddening silence. And that should have been the end. But my brain doesn't listen to logic sometimes. I still look at my phone, hoping it's you and you're ready to explain everything. How fucking pathetic it makes me feel.

You're a person I still feel very fond of. I think anyone can see how this makes the whole situation worse.

Why did you take me on a date I will never forget? I loved getting spattered with "blood" at that zombie opera. At Sunday Spins after, we were engaged and laughing with each other. At the movie showing later, you held my hand during a laughingly bad horror / sci-fi flick from the 90s. After, standing outside, I said, "I love this town." My heart was filled with gratitude, and you had helped put it there.

There's then, and there's now. Now, I feel stomped on and beaten down. I feel less than. And I feel angry at you for contributing to my feeling this way. I know, I know, "Only I am in charge of the way I react to situations beyond my control," blah blah blah. But these are my initial and lingering feelings, as much as I try to move past them. So fuck you.

I wonder how you can still move through the world and not feel like a shitty person. I wonder if you even give me a passing thought as you post your quips about breaking news on social media. I wonder if I was just a blip.

Sobriety is hard. You don't owe me anything, but I was looking forward to spending some clear-headed time with you. I got my motorcycle permit while I was away. I've been meaning to for several years, but I would be lying if I said you had nothing to do with it.

Part of me wants to crawl into a hole and stay there. Part of me wants to turn up one night at a show you're playing (which I'll probably still do because I do want to see you play). Part of me wants to bother you until you have enough of a reason to actually talk to me -- even if it's to tell me to stop. I won't follow through with the extremes. I'm oscillating between them, but I won't stay in one. Instead, I'm somewhere in the middle.

I'm supposed to use these strong feelings. I'm supposed to turn them into creative energy. I'm supposed to move on. But right now, I can't summon the motivation to get out of bed.