so to temper myself against disappointment, I have started thinking again of all the things I didn't like about him. the physical and emotional attributes. and this is what I mean when I say I'm stuck between letting go and hanging on. I don't know why I give him so much power over me. power he doesn't want or utilize.
sometimes I feel so young. (like the way I let this all affect me. like the way I write letters to him. like the way I write about all of this at all.)
sometimes I feel so old. (like the way I feel when I think about how much I miss my mom. it feels like my skin is hanging off my skull, like my face is sagging, like everything aches all at once. I can feel everything pressing in on me and the weight is like being hundreds of feet underwater. the weight is like walking against the wind. the weight is like laying down in the shower and wanting to never stand up again. there is timelessness at the same time as feeling the inevitable crush of age.)
and sometimes, thankfully, I don't feel anything at all.
my passion has all been bled away by living.
it's so hard to miss something that only ever caused you pain. that is a thing for younger, less lived-in people to do.
I am not old by years. oh no. I will be thirty a month from today. that is barely any time at all. I have not lived as much as some people, but certainly more than others. and I have felt more than some will in a lifetime. and it has made me tired, and cold, and it has killed parts of me, and it has made me entirely the person that I am today.
sometimes I am thankful for that.
other times I wish I could have been more evenly tempered those years ago when I was screaming out my passion.
it's too late. all I have to work with now is what is left. and I still wish for pills to take the feeling away. I still wish to be numb. just to get through the next few years. until I can move away and start everything all over again.
I cannot stand the new england life.
it only furthers the death of who I used to be.
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