I was really excited when I got really cozy on the couch and passed out at 22:00 today. I was relieved because I am not accustomed to having problems with sleeping because of things troubling me, but here I am. I can't sleep. Night after night after night. Could working so hard until I dropped have been the only thing closing my eyes at the end of the day? I'm sure at this point it was. Now, I am jobless, useless, floating through the summer months and I can't sleep.
It used to not bother me. All of the boys. All of the nights in random beds in random arms. It was some masochistic kind of comfort. "If I can't have a husband now, at least I am being appreciated somehow." I remember all of them. I can't get their faces out of my head. Every time I snuggle my pillow or teddy bear, it becomes one of those monsters.
Maybe I'm just not tired.
Day 35 of "singleness" but I still flirt and feed off of the attention that is now making me sick. What is going on with me? I thought I was coming back to friends. I was coming back to love and support, but I'm still longing. I want solidarity. I want comfort. I want to not be lonely.
I know I need to make critical progress in my life before I go about having a successful relationship anyway, but I want someone like who he was to me. Always eager and available. I have gone through how I messed it up a hundred and one times and I know that I would probably mess something even better up the same way. I thought I would feel better six months later. Instead the boney finger of accusation has been pointed at me in the foggy trance between wake and sleep.
I don't know if it means I need more friends or different ones if I can't get the ones I thought I had to spend time with me... but I can't do life alone like this.
