Why so low? Why so dejected? Why so sad?
It's been three weeks since this sadness has hijacked you and you're still like this. There are moments, many of them, when you can laugh and feel free.
But then you revert.
I cry in the shower; I cry while listening to du'a; I cry when I see how different my life is to how I would like it to be; I cry when I realise I still haven't done a thing toward getting a job; I cry when I see my loneliness; I cry when I see the pieces of my jigsaw self strewn all over the carpet and I have no energy to pick them up and piece them together. Again.
And I still cry when I think of him. And then I cry more because he never liked me. And is obviously not being tormented by memories, the way I still am. Mind you, I do realise that I create my own suffering. I'm the masochistic dominatrix, remember?
But it doesn't help with Valentine's Day being stuffed down my throat. Gag me with a spoon, please.
And stupid things keep happening that remind me of him, like Moonpig card ads on the Underground and songs on the radio.
Boy, I'm such a cry baby. I mean, exactly how many tears am I going to shed in this lifetime? And this is me, after having all my other needs being met, or about to be met, and all I'm doing is crying because I can't handle a little loss and rejection?
I'm going back to bed.
It's been three weeks since this sadness has hijacked you and you're still like this. There are moments, many of them, when you can laugh and feel free.
But then you revert.
I cry in the shower; I cry while listening to du'a; I cry when I see how different my life is to how I would like it to be; I cry when I realise I still haven't done a thing toward getting a job; I cry when I see my loneliness; I cry when I see the pieces of my jigsaw self strewn all over the carpet and I have no energy to pick them up and piece them together. Again.
And I still cry when I think of him. And then I cry more because he never liked me. And is obviously not being tormented by memories, the way I still am. Mind you, I do realise that I create my own suffering. I'm the masochistic dominatrix, remember?
But it doesn't help with Valentine's Day being stuffed down my throat. Gag me with a spoon, please.
And stupid things keep happening that remind me of him, like Moonpig card ads on the Underground and songs on the radio.
Boy, I'm such a cry baby. I mean, exactly how many tears am I going to shed in this lifetime? And this is me, after having all my other needs being met, or about to be met, and all I'm doing is crying because I can't handle a little loss and rejection?
I'm going back to bed.
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