Sleep Error

Here I am again.  Middle of the night.  Awake.  I took an actual sleeping pill this time, not a PM pain pill.  I was hoping I’d actually get some sleep.  I’ll probably pass out around 6 am or something equally retarded.

I feel like I’m holding my breath.  Waiting to exhale.  Waiting for the last tiny string holding my emotions in place to break and everything floods over me in an instant.  Terror, fear, happiness, joy, longing, aching.  I’m almost feeling nothing.  Like I bottled everything up so tight to deal with the past few days and now I can’t let it go.  I watched one of the Nicholas Sparks movies, one that usually sets me crying and releases all these pent-up emotions.  My chest just feels tighter, like the pressure is building, but the dam is still holding fast.  I’ve never been one who can cry on command.  Even as a kid, I couldn’t do it.

I’m trying to make this ache in my chest grow until it overflows, but I can’t seem to get there.  I used to daydream about lost loves and broken hearts.  I used to daydream about a volatile relationship.  I used to have a volatile relationship to reach out to.  But that relationship is gone and I can’t seem to connect.  I can’t seem to feel.

I don’t know if life is better or worse without him in it.  Our relationship has always been volatile.  Never violent.  Well, both of us have caused the other to punch pillows or walls and scream in anger.  But we’ve never struck each other.  At least not physically.  We found other ways to inflict pain.  I don’t know if we always meant to inflict the pain, but I know we both found a pleasure in the knowledge that we had caused pain.  That the other person was hurting as much as they had hurt us.  Maybe our whole relationship has been one huge game.  Except he never wants to stop playing.  I’ve always been the one to walk away, cut off communication.  But sooner or later one of us breaks down and reaches out.  And we start up the calls and texts again.  Until one of the conversations wanders too far into the past and old arguments are brought up.  Wounds are reopened and the games begin again.  Until I, again, walk away.

I don’t know if life is better or worse with him in it.

I don’t know that I really want him in it.

Evidently, thats not the right trigger either.  I need to cry.  I want to cry.  I want to release the ache in my chest and cry out the pain into my pillow.  Its pathetic that even thinking about old boyfriends and old loves don’t cause me to tear up anymore.  Its been too long.  I’m honestly over it.  I can think and re-live any memory of TIm without crying.  I can’t remember what Danny’s kiss tasted like.  I don’t close my eyes to see Rob’s eyes boring into me.  I can no longer feel Mike’s fingers running over my skin.

Don’t I sound like a little whore.

I don’t want temporary pleasure.  I don’t want to be kissed or get laid.  I want more than that.  Deeper than that.  I’m waiting for something that will last.  I’m wanting something that will last.  Someone I can build a life with.  Someone I can grow old with.  The benefit of my past relationships is that I’ve better defined what works for me and what doesn’t.  There’s gotta be something wrong with the fact that my healthiest relationship (and breakup) was with a guy who was in the Merchant Marines.  I’m not saying it was the best relationship or perfect.  There were still problems.  The breakup still hurt when it happened.  But in comparison to our other relationships, we did pretty good.  Even he admitted that he’d never had a girlfriend as good as me.  When we were ending things, he said that I would make a good military wife.  I didn’t know what he meant and told him so.  He said that I was a long-term big-picture kinda girl.  Nine months or eighteen apart might seem like forever, but as long as at the end of it all my man came home to me, I was okay with it.  He said he’d never dated anyone who would balance "the not wanting him to go, but letting him go anyways" so well.  I told him it was easier with him because he rarely went anywhere dangerous.  Once, when he went to the east coast of Africa, I was scared for him.  But nothing like what military wives go through.  He shrugged and said he still thought I’d be a good military wife.

I don’t know if anyone is really built to live like that.  I’m not sure a healthy relationship includes that much time apart willingly.  People put up with it, but no military spouse I know WANTS their significant other to leave for a war zone.

None of this is helping with the insomnia.  This might be a bigger problem than just an off sleep cycle.