Making the transition into being alone is not a process that can really be taken lightly. I've hit the first major snag in the process, even though I've tried to plan enough to smooth things over as much as possible.
It will probably get worse from here.
On one hand, it's difficult and painful, and I've had to make decisions that may not be the best I could have made, or the safest, or the "right" course of action. On the other hand, they are my decisions to make, and regardless of whether they are right or wrong, they are mine.
I'm struggling to be okay with that.
I don't want to be the bad guy. I want to be liked. I want to be the nice guy who everyone loves. And I can't always be that and still keep my integrity.
I miss the darkness. I miss the music of the night. I miss being able to slide into a song and lose myself in the lyrics, the rhythm, the notes that carry me off into some other realm where I can become nothing.
I can still put on my headphones at work and throw on P J Harvey or Kate Bush or Nick Cave, but it's just a shadow of what could be. When I open my eyes again, I'm still at my gray cubicle, with my gray computer screen and my gray telephone, and ceiling tiles and industrial carpet.
I miss stimulation. I miss texture. I miss passion.
I've taken to hugging my pillow at night. It's a comfort thing. Didn't want to face the world this morning, and I held on to the pillow.
I think if I brought it into work they may look at me funny. Particularly if I made it wear a disguise so nobody would recognize it.
I have a shiny knife
The blade feels cool against my skin
Soft and sharp
Delicate and purposed
Tracing pictures of hate against my skin
Tinged in red
The color of love