I Am Alone

I Am Alone

I broke up with you a month ago, and I’ve felt no loss, no pain, no sting, and no gain.

We dated for years, and I saw your face each day and your lips on my neck each week. Coupling with you in bed wasn’t my favorite, as my intimacy came from the warmth of the blankets, the sound of the waitress asking us for our orders, and the smell of morning coffee.

Several times you asked me, “Are you sure I’m the one you want?: and I said “Yes, I love you, and I’m with you because I want you.” and you said “Okay.”

I’m twenty five, and when my eighteen year old cat died, my Earth began to break and my sky began to shatter. Even with you by my side at night, I lost sleep, unable to feel safe, with my stuffed animals as a poor substitute for the furry round mass that used to purr against my chest, arms, and legs until I fell asleep.

You didn’t understand, as you were never a pet person. That was okay. I still had you to greet me when I left for work and beg me not to go. You were still there to ask me to make dinner and to watch over me while I was sweating with fever. You were still there when I slept.

It wasn’t long until I lost my job too, being gently let go be cause I just wasn’t fitting in anymore, or was it because I could no longer fulfill my duties, or was it cutbacks, or because I wasn’t interested in meeting the boss’ son for dinner last weekend?

As expected, I couldn’t seem to find work. You stayed to support me until I found work, work that I barely tolerated, where I loved on a good day and had meltdowns on a bad day and I didn’t need you to calm me down and I didn’t want you to be around when I celebrated. My heart grew distant, and I didn’t care for work much longer.

As my life dulled, my feelings for you dulled as well. Our love no longer brought me joy, and in time, I started to feel my resentment growing. I turned to my friends for all my needs, my intimacy, my companionship, everything but the sex I didn’t need and you seemed fine with it until you weren’t.

I had to leave before you grew to resent me too. You cried, begging me not to leave, because you could take care of me, I didn’t drink that much, let me get you again, I know you’re sad but I want to support you, but I said no, not because I was too depressed, too unfeeling, too dangerous, but for a reason I couldn’t say. In the morning, I found the empty bottles littering the living room. I’m sorry, but at the same time, I am not. I wouldn’t say that I just didn’t want to date you anymore, after five years of bliss.

I found another place to live, where I fueled irresponsible purchases with the money I made at a job I could barely stand. I drank to drink and smoked to smoke and cried as I hugged my pillows, wishing I could feel something, anything, even if just for a moment.

Six months and I was still the same. I laid in bed, the room beginning to spin because of how much I had drank that night, tears threatening to fill my eyes when I felt a small thump, and an excited rumble begin to erupt from her tiny body. She crawled onto my chest and rubbed her tiny, hot body against my face and licked and chewed my hair and made her unconditional love known to me as I gently ran my fingers through her impossibly soft kitten fur. She only grew to be more affectionate and to show me affection more fiercely than before, almost as if she knew that my body was beginning to starve from the lack of touched.

I smiled, because she was the only one to make me feel anything.

Bad habits

I’ve gotten into the habit lately of taking a few shots of alcohol so I can relax and just write something. Its a bad habit, but writing is full of bad habits.

Writing is staying up late, staring at a computer screen. It’s clearing your browsing history just in case, and having nothing but a bag of fatty chips for dinner because who has time to cook when you’re nearly done with the first draft of the next chapter? It’s having that extra smoke and it’s putting aside everything to just watch one more episode of your favorite show before pulling up the writing program of your choice.

Writing is staring at blank documents and re-re-re reading what you have already written and trying not to drive yourself up the wall editing before you’ve given it time to soak and going back over it with a new set of eyes.

I’ve been working on my book the past few weeks, and I’ve not much to show for it. I’m proud to say that between work and the calls of my online friends, I’ve managed to make major headway on the story outline, character redesigning, and wrapped up the first draft of the first chapter, only to get drunk and dive into the second one.

…Then my computer froze, but luckily, I had saved my work. That is the one good habit I have.

Tomorrow night I will rest, and after that, I aim to finish the draft of chapter two within a week.

The Internet Is A Distraction

Once again, I am back with a non-story related update. I’m working on a short story that I think is quite interesting, and based off of a dream I had years ago. 

All I have to do is edit my notes to have it make sense, and also to remove the giant vibrator that has a time travel setting. It’s easier said than done.

Anyways. For the last week or so there hasn’t really been wifi at my home. It’s entirely out of my control. My data plan on my phone is exhausted and I’m on reduced speed right now, which suuuuuucks. At least Reddit is still kind of working. And WordPress, sometimes. 

I’ve managed to write a few pages of my book in the past few days. I’m struggling with it, especially because of my decision to rewatch the entire Avatar: The Last Airbender series. Thank goodness my roommate gave me all access to her DVD collection. I’ve also set myself on the task of reworking my entire farm in Stardew Valley.  It’s very difficult to dedicate time to writing under these self inflicted circumstances. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll be able to crank out a few more pages. Maybe finish a chapter. Who knows.

It’s just so hard to focus, even without wifi and the whole entire internet to distract me. I absolutely suspect that my ADHD has everything to do with this. 

-Spencer Holly