Beauty in the breakdown...

I've made a decision.

My heart is fairly bruised.

I fall back on bad habits, if I do not monitor myself, if I do not control myself.

I tend to celebrate the rebound sex as something fun, as something that shows to me I'm stronger than I feel I am, and that I'm desirable.

I don't... admit to pain easily.

I brush up and color the ways I meet men when I'm rebounding and just want that physical contact.

And that is, truly, all I want.

Physical contact. Warm, safe, physical contact, that allows my body to relax and breathe.

I trade sex for this, when I'm down.

I trade sex for the illusion of being desired.

I trade sex for the illusion of understanding.

Sex is, and has been for some time, worthless to me, or rather only of the value of the person I am with. So I trade something of little value for something of value to me. The costs for me are time, gasoline, and sleep.

And I know, I know once the distaste of ever touching another man dissipates, my subconscious will kick in and drive me towards that validation of desire, validation of being female. And I'll rationalize it and try to control it and scuff up a bit, I'm sure.

And then I'll glorify it, I'll convince myself to revel in it.

I really don't want to.

There has to be a healthier way of doing this. I know there is. I know there are several ways of recovering. I just have to find which one works for me.

So I'm going to do my best, dear blog, to be even more honest. To admit to myself when I'm just desperately needing affection, when I'm scrambling to feel desired, when my depression and anxiety are getting the better of me and it's 2AM and I'm scanning Craigslist for a potential bootycall just so I'm not alone for that night.

So I can chase that illusion and temporarily keep myself sane, though, long-term... not so much.

Acknowledgement. Honesty. Awareness.

Pushing towards it. Pushing towards health.

Searching for that core.

I hurt. I'll say it again and again until I feel as though I have found the right combination of words to express the feeling I'm experiencing. That's why I repeat myself so often in my posts, because I feel like I'm not expressing myself right.

I feel that the next three years of my life will likely be without partnership.

It's just a feeling.

I'll be 29. Hopefully with a Master's degree. Hopefully published, somehow, somewhere. Single.

It's strange. I'm a serial monogamist. I'm incredibly desirious of love, of partnership, of having that dominant man in my life to serve, to devote myself to, to grow with.

We were so close, so close to that.

But we stumbled short. If you give everything, almost everything, you have to give, and it doesn't work... well, there's not much else to do.

I'm sitting in bed, under at least six blankets, watching The Holiday, attempting to cheer myself up. Attempting to feel as though there's someone out in the world, someone I might actually ever encounter in this lifetime, that fits me. The navy man across the hall gave me a bag of gummi worms to cheer me up, ordered me to smile if I was to receive them.

It's almost sad, because nearly every time I blindly reach into the bag to pull out two of a very colorful selection, they match. It defies probability.

I'm going to, regretfully, go into work tomorrow. Swallow this down and try to function. I'll succeed in functioning but, christ, I don't want to go in. I don't want to return to my normal life and realize it has changed. Deviating from my usual pattern like this has allowed me to escape from reality. It's a vacation from the pain in my head and heart.

He left me.

I want to stay in bed and cry. I want to call him and have him comfort me. I want to feel his limbs wrapped around me and I want to cling to him.

I wish I was okay.

I wish it did not feel like someone has hollowed me out yet again.

I wish I wasn't so good at covering it up. Because that takes practice and I, I have a lot of practice.

I keep returning to his email, reading it over and over. Not because I want to wallow, but because I am so good at repressing the pain that I need to trigger it to know it's there. Otherwise... I just don't deal.

What am I supposed to say, supposed to do? I want to cry, but since the initial shock, I've been unable to. There are so many things going through my head, images and feelings. Memories and wishes. I wish I felt safe. Safe enough to experience this emotion.

There continues to be that echoing fear that I'm stuck, alone. To be alone. The near-constant stream of unsuitable men in my life that I know are simply there, passing the time. Waiting for the right one. Knowing he's unlikely to come.

This had to happen right before finals week. Had to happen the week of the company party. Had to happen at the beginning of my work day. Had to happen in the middle of the freaking week. Had to happen just before the holidays.

I wish I could skip class tonight.

I wish I could ditch out on this life for a little longer.