Come Apart

A close friend of mine often uses the phrase "come apart" to describe a breakdown...it's the Mississippi girl in her. That's what I'm having this week (a come apart, I mean). I am tired and cranky and moody. I've dealt with more heartache in the past four days than I've encountered in a long time. I'm down to 900 calories a day to lose weight and that alone is enough to make me spit nails. I'm scattered and unfocused and all over the place. My apartment is a mess and my clean laundry is all over the bedroom floor. I have a phone book and no less than 10 door hangar/fliers on my front stoop that I need to pick up and throw away. I have a leaky fridge and a messy car.

Yet I can't seem to do anything but pull myself out of bed in the morning, go to work, and then come home and crash on the sofa until the clock strikes 8:30PM and I can justify going to bed. Because, I lie to myself, I am going to get up at 5:30AM and go to the gym so it's okay to go to bed at 8:30PM. But the next morning I'll hit snooze for over an hour until I absolutely have to get up or I'll be late to work.

There was a time in my early twenties when this went on for years. I tried to shake it but I just couldn't. It took a few life-altering events to wake me from my stupor. And I'm wondering if that's what it's going to take this time. But I don't want life-altering events. I don't want a new job or a new place to live. I just want my love to be returned. For once I want someone to care more about me than they do themselves. I want the whispers and the arms at night to be real and not just the half-asleep conjurings of an exhausted mind.