I am having a mental breakdown in my living room
I think it's OK to be alone sometimes. It's fine to play your music loud, and drink and sing along and pretend everything is alright for a few hours. You can ignore the cis guy putting on their dress in the apartment across your balcony and forget you have a boyfriend who is on the other side of the world. You can enjoy your sausages curated by Lina McCartney and your shitty salad with lettuce that's been limp and lonely for weeks in the fridge. It's all good.
Until you realise that it's not. A piercing thought of your old life. A flicker of the warmth and pointless conversation of your loved one. It's lonely. You're alone. You're alone with your cat and having one-sided conversations with a cat licking it's groin across the table.
It's not forever. That's what you tell yourself. There are only a couple of weeks left. But it's just so boring. It's too quiet and I need noise. I need clamour. I need music played loud. I have intrusive thoughts, reminders of this old life before I was happy. Memories of wondering if anyone would find me attractive or lovable. Could I possibly be worth anybody's time? Is anyone out there who gets me? Can you see who I am? Can you see past the oily, blemished, uneven flesh and see... I don't know - Something valuable? There is a studious, witty, caring boy in there.
But then I catch myself. I know my worth. I know how much time to devote to someone who does not care, no, who cannot see what is in font of him. I don't need to waste my time. I just need to wait. I need to wait and then I will be validated.
It's a circle. It goes round and round. The want. The need to do something, someone. The distraction. The intrusions. The complete washing over of emotions. Your agony. Your self-appraisal. Your worth. Your strength. Your ability to get out of bed the next day. Then you want something again.
Until you realise that it's not. A piercing thought of your old life. A flicker of the warmth and pointless conversation of your loved one. It's lonely. You're alone. You're alone with your cat and having one-sided conversations with a cat licking it's groin across the table.
It's not forever. That's what you tell yourself. There are only a couple of weeks left. But it's just so boring. It's too quiet and I need noise. I need clamour. I need music played loud. I have intrusive thoughts, reminders of this old life before I was happy. Memories of wondering if anyone would find me attractive or lovable. Could I possibly be worth anybody's time? Is anyone out there who gets me? Can you see who I am? Can you see past the oily, blemished, uneven flesh and see... I don't know - Something valuable? There is a studious, witty, caring boy in there.
But then I catch myself. I know my worth. I know how much time to devote to someone who does not care, no, who cannot see what is in font of him. I don't need to waste my time. I just need to wait. I need to wait and then I will be validated.
It's a circle. It goes round and round. The want. The need to do something, someone. The distraction. The intrusions. The complete washing over of emotions. Your agony. Your self-appraisal. Your worth. Your strength. Your ability to get out of bed the next day. Then you want something again.
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