[i write this with not a small dose of restraint today. if i'm not careful, i'll spray excess words all over the internet, things written in the heat of passion that aren't what i mean to say. so with that caveat in mind, let's proceed.]
he's in country now, i assume. funny how having him so far away, behind the wall of developing-world technology that may as well erase him from existence while he's gone, brings up nothing but all the things that annoy, that chafe, that tighten my chest about us. i hate this. i hate that he's there. i hate all the preparation that had to go into it - vaccinations, prescriptions, neurotoxic insect repellents, ad infinitum, ad astram, ad nauseam. i hate that he chose a career that will undoubtedly lead to this sort of situation time and time again. but i hate this feeling, this vacuum into which neurotoxins of my own have flooded, one thousand times worse.
i grow petulant in his absence. i think of problems, conflicts, bad habits and supposed slights. i gain a desire to maim, to wound, to slash. someday, you will ache like i ache. when wounded, and i am more wounded than i care to contemplate, i bite. i am the girl with the thorn in her side, festering, stabbing, throbbing and blocking out all of my logic with a miasma of insanely-pitched agony. if i don't watch this cocktail of emotions, i'll cause problems. and it's not even like i can tell him about it. like i said, for the next few days, he's essentially a figment of my tortured, twisted imagination. even if i could talk to him, i am reasonably certain that what i would say would violate the i need you to not freak out directive.
so i have dealt with my angered, injured nerves the best way i know how: i have vacated the premises for several days of swirling, louche distraction. i'm doing what all good degenerates do. i will solve my problems by getting righteously, indignantly, starkly drunk, tearing up the bars of my louisiana homeland with the band of sisters i built in law school, while i shredded an old life that didn't fit in preparation for this one. (be careful what you wish for?) i will drink the memory into oblivion, soothing this monster of a feeling through temporary chemically-induced analgesia. i will do what i do best.
i will ignore it.
we'll see how long i can sustain this, replacing a figurative cocktail with a literal cocktail, distracting and deluding myself into pretending i'm fine. i will not freak out. i will be the very model of a modern major depressive, at least one who can cope. and he will be proud of me when he comes back from his parallel universe. my apparent bravery in the face of a situation i could not control will give him faith in me. (unless he deigns to read this blog, i guess; if he does, the cover will totally be blown.) and that, my friends, will be my victory.
here's hoping i make it that long.
Letter 70: Be Louder
4 weeks ago