Can I Borrow a Feeling?

I've been feeling pretty lousy for a while now, but things have lately become substantially worse. Sometimes writing helps; I appeal to the great group therapy now: Internet, heal my wounds!

I didn't sleep well last night, violating the current pattern of fall into bed and hope Morpheus catches you before you stumble into Erebus. I've been oscillating through apathy and agony since about 7pm Friday, when my girlfriend decided it was over.

We've..We'd been together somewhere between four and five years depending on how you count. I never cared too, if she did, she never said anything. Thankfully, I suppose. Seems like a long time, perhaps too long, seems strange. Bothersome? I lack the eloquence to describe the tinge of malaise the timetable gives me, but if you were here I would wiggle one hand a little and press the other to my stomach and make a slight groan. I could only hope you might infer the discomfort time gives me and, you see, my stomach hurts and I have no appetite. I've never possessed an accurate mental chronometer, I confess. It seems surreal.

I've never understood timing either. I always felt myself a poor musician for it. I faked my way through it, more than I should admit, but I am hardly of a sober mind as of late. The timing now, I don't really understand. The events pressed on myself, constantly I felt it slipping from me, but I had not expected it so soon. I suppose I should have; I consider myself a fool now for it. Though my bereavement shall wither with time, this evidence shall persist with me. Indeed, I am a fool. I take solace in knowing I shall not be the last fool or even the greatest, I can hope no greater evidence confronts me with this fact. The fool in me, desired to remain in some simpleton's bliss through the summer. 'One last happy season,' it cried. What more can I lose than my beloved? Only my dignity, and I am writing into the 'tubes. Please, pass the eyeliner, I've some tight pants to match!

I grow sickened with myself. I dare not presume isolation in that.

After all, this was a premeditated action. She was the brooding type, a passive bottler, and I, an infant! She would have weighed every option, probably taking her obligations into account: to her family, friends, herself (in that order). Where I fell, I am no longer certain. I imagine as a mercy-killing. Better now than later. Surrender the facade! Unfortunate..

On Monday, in my dejection I asked her, in response to a text message which stated her obligations to "play mom" for her family, when (if) it would be for her to play girlfriend. This was an unacceptable request! She demanded greater leniency or discontinuation. I replied with an ambiguous "ok". I imagine now that was the demon seed that led to my present squalor. In clarification I proposed some sort of "friends with benefits" option, which was my attempt at saying we should let things slide for a bit. Not so much emphasis on getting together as much and whatnot. I just wanted to ease the tension, take some pressure off. Apparently, not enough. The tension extended into the next year, as she perceived it. Let the lesson live: stopgap saves nothing!

We won't be going back to BYU-I. I won't be going back to BYU-I. She will be. I don't remember her being happy there at all, but I had the beer-goggles of dysphoria distorting my perception. Could I have been dragging her down? She's no longer interested in me now, could the principle have been so different then? I don't know. I can easily imagine her settling in there again, content with her favorite roommate. In this twisted specter, I imagine her roommate needing a double-date partner, and recruiting a reluctant Kirsten to accompany her, who then finds her date to be none other than my former roommate. With myself removed as any limitation, they resume their friendly demeanor and become more..The story ends with her feigning faith for a husband but inhibited by crippling allergies to perfume preventing patronage, or perhaps a conversion? Do these strands seem strange, scrambled even? It is not without some sort of silly substance! Though my mind runs rampant, many former friends call her instead of myself. She has a higher retention on my friends than I ever have ever, it sometimes seems, with less strain than it takes myself to obtain them. Do I dare weigh this evidence as authentication of her abusive assertions that I am of a putrid personality? I am no soothsayer, but my parents failed adolescences in similar circumstances do not sit well with me. I suppose there is solace in the thought that separated from her, I am free from the blue-collar entrapment a child could bring, as it befell my father in his second semester at that same college. It makes me shudder at times. I can take relative comfort in the shortage of soldiers may potentially provide some refuge in the future, should times call for it. I do not know...

I couldn't do it. I can't do it. Not again. The cognitive dissonance shreds my soul. I cannot reconcile myself with the religion and attend the school of such. Two years are too much. I need to transfer to another school, but I do not know where I should attend or what I should study and am hesitant with such a pricey investment. So, where do I go from here?

I suppose I first need to find a new person to hang out with...