Lucid

I'm still awake. I'm lucid, sobbing, sniffling. I'm a wreck, as is usually the case at night. I feel like I'm nauseous, dizzy, aching and everything in between. I try to rest. My throat hurts. My eyes burn. My skull feels like it's caving in like wet paper mache. I can't feel my fingertips as I type this now, this memoir of a sad, lonely woman with no hope for a normal life. That almost looks funny as I read it back to myself. Pretty corny. Yet, sadly, true.

Watching Vanilla Ice flip houses isn't helping me fall asleep. It just reminds me, as he pressure-washes the chemicals off the concrete, erasing the damage, that I am expendable. I guess I always was. I hate to beat a dead horse, but there isn't much one can do in this situation BUT relive details over and over. I pick apart every mistake I am responsible for, reasoning that it would not be cause for me to cheat or leave. I don't ask for much and I can put up with quite a bit. I'm socially active enough that I can talk, drink and dance my way into forgetting most things that are not acceptable in a relationship. I guess I never thought that I'd have to walk away for some of those things. I always figured that I would prevail in the end, that I'd show them. We'd last. He'd love me the way I needed to be loved. I really did. I have no idea what I was thinking and I really feel genuine concern for those around me who believe they have something special. It's not that they don't, it's just that special is something you think you have NOW. The only time a person looks back and says it was special is if the person is still with them, or has died. No one looks back after being heartbroken and says, "It was such a special relationship that we had." No one.

How could they? I mean, if it's over and they're still alive, somebody got hurt. Special doesn't break your heart, shred your ego apart and humiliate you. Special sticks around, chooses you first, makes you their priority. Special needs you, appreciates you, forgives you and adores you.