I Smoke Too Much

I guess it's safe to share this now.

It's been about a month since things went South in the romance department (again), but like I said earlier, I'm shockingly cool with it. I learned a few things, and it was interesting to be the heartbroken rather than the heartbreaker - I've never been there before; strange considering that it's taken 30 years for me to finally feel that sting.

(btw, pitfall to being a nice guy: Women LOVE it, and you need to be the bad guy all the time when things start to go sideways.)

I wrote this in the middle of that spinning sensation:

I smoke too much.

I've had the weight of the world on my shoulders for the past few days, and it's getting to be more than I can bear - it's my own damn fault anyway.

The pain nags at me, like the constant clatter of the streetcars that pass outside my window.

I'm starting to get concerned for my health. I haven't slept, and I just realized that I haven't eaten since Tuesday - not one bite - but I'm not hungry, I'm just tired..

I wait for a call that may never come; the sweet sound of her voice on the other end telling me that she misses me, asking me to come see her, to hold her close. I remember those times, and at times it's all I remember. The smell of her hair, the soft touch of her skin, her smile - her beautiful smile - could light up even the darkest of din.

It's pathetic, really, so I try not to think about it; but like the pink elephant it lingers in the background, constantly asserting itself.

I'm not sure exactly how I got to where I am, I just know that I'm here now, and that it's too late for me to go back. The worst part is that I know you felt it too, that I didn't come here alone.

But now she's gone, and that cold reality cuts through me like the wind on a bitter winter night.

The past few weeks have been a blur of doubt and insecurity - I was under the impression that I'd run the myriad of the emotional spectrum, and that I was pretty well equipped to deal with shit like this better than most people I know - man, was I wrong. Indeed, I've seen a fair bit of red in what's been of this little life, but I am not ready for this. Every impulse and instinct I've ever had has been wrong, every feeling beaten back with hurricane force.

I am a shell again.
I am terrified.
I am undone.

Of course, it's entirely inside the realm of possibility that I'm making mountains out of mole hills.. but this is the way I'm feeling right now, and I owe it to myself not to lie about it.

I'm a retard..

and, I smoke too much.