I haven’t slept well in a month. Maybe one night while I was away. I first assumed it was because of the horror I felt looking back on the last 3-4 months. I thought it was because I scared myself straight by putting up with less than I deserved. The piss poor decisions. The epic mistakes I made while navigating through singledom and lonliness. The dreams I gave up on for that short period of time. The complete lack of focus and complete disregard to my self worth. Surely, that was it.
But it’s been a month. And I’ve been away. I have regained my self control and I’ve put my foot down, fastened my chastity belt and no longer accept settling for those who refuse to see my worth or automaticlly assume they deserve my all simply because they see a pretty face. I gained closure from that which led to my downfall this past year. And I felt strong and I felt proud. Inspired even. For one, I started writing again and that’s a good sign.
But ya know what? I still can’t sleep.
Because I fell. Again. Despite my best efforts to steer clear and be logical. I can’t control how I feel. I just feel. And I bleed. I liked the way I felt. Loved. The way I laughed. The way I smiled. And the way I lost control of my eyes looking into his. By the time our eyes met, I was already so far gone. Half the time, I didnt even realize what I was doing. I was on autopilot. And that is very, very new to me. And the worst part about it was that he reciprocated, plus some.
But now it just hurts. And I knew it the moment I was laying on that couch when I suddenly realized that it was far too late to pretend that he wasn’t going to be my next muse. I cringed and I yelled, “fuck!” over and over.
I knew it was going to hurt.
Because it mattered.
And here I am … fastening a zipper to my mouth as I desparately search for sleep and tell myself, “This time, go quiet.”
For the love of God.
Don’t do it again.