At 1:13am I started to write an entry, and did so for about 17 minutes, then deleted the whole thing. It’s not much of a “Dear….” entry when you’re three paragraphs in and you haven’t really gotten to the subject.
I should be asleep right now. But in my quest to get whatever sleep I could before being woken up to the sound of my alarm for the last time this week, you entered my head. My thoughts were not even remotely related to you at any point, but during those thoughts, a thing was said aloud in brain that very distinctly reminded me of you. They were words I’ve only ever said to you, via message, and never uttered before from my lips, but words spoken nonetheless. And just like that I was instantly taken aback, thrust ever more so into being even more awake than I was before because…you.
We stopped talking. Years ago. Nothing new between people in general. But usually I’ll know why. This time, I don’t. I’ve never known. I have no idea if you had met someone and just decided to cut me out of you life, or if I just drove you away from my negativity about where I was. But you’re gone. Seemingly to never return. And I hate it. I’ve always hated it. You creep back into my life completely oblivious to what you’ve done, and I can’t stand it. I hope it was easy for you. That’s as honest as I can be, though it may not sound that way. I hope it is all easy for you and you are living the life you wanted. I hope you’re well. I said as much months ago the last time I wrote about this except that time it was not what I am feeling right now. I guess as it turns out, it was a sad attempt at me trying to let go. And I obviously haven’t.
I’m so tired. Not in a drowsy way, just, I’m tired at life at the moment. I was supposed to be getting back from vacation this week, but since every country had closed it’s borders, those plans went away. Instead I spent the money on debt. Not a bad choice, but I needed a vacation. I still need a vacation. I need time away from this place. Sure, I’m taking off work next week, but, I can’t go anywhere. Activities are not abound in their choices. I’ll be sitting in my room not doing a damn thing and be bored by end of day 1. Hell I’ll probably be bored by Saturday and my time off hasn’t even officially started yet. I’m tired. Lonely. Sad. Angry. Possibly depressed. Though I’m so inactive, if unwillingness to do things was a symptom, I wouldn’t know it because that’s just life here. I could have it much worse being stuck anywhere else in the world, I know that, but I’m just at that point, 9 months in, and I’m just sick of being here. I knew what I was getting into when I came back here, but no one expected a pandemic to shut down the Earth.
I guess when you’re 36, still single, with no chance of finding anywhere at the location you’re in, the reality just sinks in and you just realize it sucks. I always thought I was OK. I wouldn’t say I was strong necessarily, but I could weather the storms that were always coming. Small shingles, and slightly cracked windows were all that ever needed fixing I thought. I’ve spent so much time fixing the things I could see, that I’ve always neglected the foundation. And it’s not OK. I’m not OK. And it’s OK to admit that finally.