Two Months

I’m so alone that I ache and ache and crave touch but don’t seek it and my body is confused and my mind is a wreck and ogodican’tstopcrying at 730am when I wake up because my fucking cat tore down my Christmas lights again. I’m crawling out of my skin again and I feel so sick to my stomach that I even brought out the “just-in-case” bucket to sit next to me. And it seems all I can do is lay sideways on my bed underneath the goose down and pretend none of this is real, living in a cocoon. It’s all a dream, maybe if I say it enough I’ll believe it.
I’m so alone.
This early in the day, it’s easy to come to conclusions that are so black and white. I’m pretty sure that I’ll never be good enough to really be loved, there will always be someone prettier and smarter and easier to live with. What happened to all my self confidence, was it ever really there or was it just me blowing into the wind? I can’t convince myself to go to the gym or really do anything that’s healthy, all I can do is lay half-limp on my bed and pretend that none of this is real. But all the while I scare myself half to death, thinking that if I skip one more day at the gym, or if I eat one little stick of gum or piece of candy that I’m going to blow up and be this hideous, fat beast, and since I have not too much else going for me, everyone will leave me. I somehow make this fear rational.
I can’t figure out if me being married is actually real or if it’s something that I wanted so much that I just imagined, because yesterday was two months and other than a ring on my finger and a half dozen photos, my life is no different than it was six months ago, not even a little bit. Aren’t I supposed to live with him and be happy and go on a honeymoon and not be alone for once in my whole life?
Maybe I’m right, maybe it never happened. Maybe I did just make it up, it seems convienent. Maybe I’m really crazy, and maybe all my worst fears of dying alone and nobody finding me for six months while my cats eat my body, maybe they’ll come true.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be. I’m supposed to be happy. I’m not supposed to be alone, but I am, I’m so alone. I keep victimizing myself. I’m so alone. So alone. It’s almost a mantra. Lord. I need to go to work.