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Prison
27 January 2004 @ 8:33 a.m.
I feel myself slipping again. Sliding slowly back into the darkness of my mind. The apartment has become my prison, my cage. I feel trapped here when the door is unlocked and my car waiting coldly to drive me nowhere. My only solace is in my sleep where the dreams lull my mind and rest my sore eyes.
Food becomes negligent. Sleep arrives at extremes. Mind races with projects, worry, fear, lust, and daytime tv.
My day of productivity quickly turned to me hiding from the world. I convinced myself that since they were finishing construction on the building yesterday and had my door covered that no one could see me and I could not leave. Instead of reading and studying I found myself watching daytime television and crying.
This scene is becoming all too familiar to me. And I hate it. Led me to curl up in bed at 1:45 p.m. to hide from myself only to be awakened hours later by the phone ringing incessantly.
He�s been calling me all day, instant messaging me, trying to get a hold of me. Missed me last night. Wants to go out to dinner before our slew of meetings and intramural sports for the evening. I agree to come get him, silently complaining about his lack of vehicle. Face is washed, sweater straightened, hair brushed. I feel that all clues of my day are hidden as I clean off my car from a dusting of angry snow.
Dinner at a nice restaurant with a special. It was supposed to be his treat this week, but I would up covering part of the bill. I was disappointed, but didn�t show it in front of him or the other friend present. Food was decent, but I couldn�t eat it all due to an overly queasy stomach from worry.
My public mask is on as we enter the meeting hand in hand, until he comes up behind me and rubs my shoulders saying that I look and feel tense to him. I almost lost it right then and there in front of my peers that don�t know me. Meeting was painless and quick, thankfully. I stay after alone to gather my wits, thoughts, and willpower to be perky and cheerful at the game. Red the cheerleader must appear while she�d rather head back to the prison.
Our team won again, despite the frigid cold. We walked back to my car and I fell on uneven ice. Luckily I fell to my knees and not the other way. I heard him gasp in fear � more fear than I felt at the moment � as he gathered me up in his arms. Shooting pains run through my legs as I drive us back here, to my prison. It isn�t clean. There is evidence of my activities everywhere.
But he says nothing. Just gives me a hug and hands me my homework as he put on music and commandeered the computer so I wouldn�t be distracted. Surprisingly, all my work is finished before I know it and we�ve discussed events of the day and his loan prospects as well as my lack of job.
Does he understand what goes on with me? Is he truly this patient as I subconsciously set out to ruin this relationship? T claims that I should just shut up and enjoy the fact that Chewba wants to take care of me. Apparently this is the first of my �boys� that T approves of so if I ruin it with my worry not only will I be single, but I�ll have a friend of mine kick my ass to next Tuesday. But does T understand really what I�m going through? Am I paranoid of allowing myself to be loved? Was I hurt so badly in the past that I am unable to fully trust anyone?
I woke today with his 6�4� body curled up next to me, sleeping peacefully. I always seem to find comfort early in the morning with him. So much so that I used to have him sleep over just for the mornings. Yet as of late I feel smothered.
Why can�t I just make up my mind and be content?
currently reading: Quicksilver � Neal Stephenson
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