Personal

“One gonna heal my body another gonna heal my pain”

Yesterday, I turned off my cell phone. Shut off. Completely. With the exception of asking a friend if she survived tax-free weekend shopping and small conversation in the morning with Jeanna, I went without it. Last week has been a surge of emotions. One moment I felt capable of taking on the world, while the next its weight crushed me. Bipolar is fun, after all. That’s just a self-diagnosis, mind you. I don’t hold the credentials to make the assumption. However, depression and I are no strangers. In 2004, I started seeing a counselor at UTPA. Coupled with my anxiety, the depression explained a lot of things about me. For instance, I learned that it’s one thing saying I’m depressed and another hearing it from a professional. Suddenly, I no longer wanted to say depression was a something I felt or went through.

There’s a lot I want to say about Friday night. But I’m not going to discuss it. Just know that things have changed and it’s a fool that doesn’t see it. Am I angry? Yes. Am I sadden by this anger? More so. But who’s going to respect me if I don’t? Yesterday, I turned off my phone so I don’t fall into her traps again. Or the traps I set up for myself. And I don’t want to wind back down a path I veered off a long time ago. When I feel in love with Jeanna. Love. With all the books and wisdom I’ve gathered from them, it’s insane who a simple concept of love still befuddle me. It’s even humorous that I’d fall in love with someone who doesn’t believe in it. Not in the same level as I do. The emotional vampire falling in love with an emotional succubus.

Fragments of this blog. The first and second phase. They’re part of a bigger picture. A shorter project. That I’m just beginning to glue together.

Today, however, until Breaking Bad’s final eight episodes premieres tonight, I’m going to finally take down the pictures and mementos of a relationship and place them in a box. Because it’s been over a year since we separated. And I’m tired of holding on to hope.

Because there’s no keepsake that could ever mend what we lost.

Summer Reprise by Ashton Cutright
Summer Reprise

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