“…and I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” I said a mere day ago. But here we go, once again, on the roller coaster that is my post-parting process of emotional torture. I keep telling myself to sleep, because I’ll wake up in a whole ‘nother mood, but sleep doesn’t come so readily anymore. 5 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. is no “night’s sleep,” but it’s starting to be the norm, and I’m sure that will take its toll on me soon enough. So even after a whopping 3.5 hours of slumber, I wake up no more stable, and, if anything, slightly more disheveled.
So maybe, just maybe I’d trade it for something. I don’t know what, because it’s an awfully good thing when it’s right there in front of me. But when it’s not, it’s almost like I can’t completely remember (early onset Alzheimer’s?), and I think about the one or two things that make me crazy (probably because they have the ability to make me crazy), and then I wonder what life would be like if things were different. I don’t get very far, because the part where I’m now rather emotionally dependent can’t even fathom it, but it rolls around up there nonetheless. I’m almost certain my brain does this twisted defense mechanism of sorts (Intellectualization? Isolation? Reaction Formation?) that harps on those one or two things, convinces me that they’re important, and then prepares me for if they really are by making me want to be “hard” (as opposed to the ridiculous ball of “I can’t take being apart” bawling mess I displayed not 48 hours prior).
And then somehow, it goes away. Don’t ask me how, or when, or why, because if I had any goddamn clue, I’d find a way to trigger it. But it does, and it will, and I’ll go back to being in pain but disgustingly in love.*
*Not that I’m not always, just that I don’t always know how to keep that thought at the surface. Or more likely it is always there, it just goes through a process of girl-crazy–that I can’t control, and therefore can’t fucking stand.