Sit In My Chair. Ruin My Sleep. Make Me Aware.

I don’t know if my heart remembers how to beat slowly.

Maybe it isn’t him. Maybe it’s always been this way and I have just been different and happier in the past. Or have had more distractions. I wish I had a big dark sky to look at and feel small beneath. I wish I had an ounce of perspective and could conjure up any positive imagination at all for the future. How did I end up in an attic in New Jersey with cat scratches all over my body and a jar full of twenty dollar bills. How did I ever turn twenty two. Wasn’t something supposed to have happened by now. Why don’t I care more. Why can’t he and I even have a conversation. Why am I wracked with guilt twenty-four hours a day in any setting at any given time. Is this really even a relationship anymore. How do I stop overreacting and how do I get results.
When I try to explain myself, I’m apparently speaking a different language because I always get the same blank stare or the classic silence that I’ll eventually have to break. Yes, I feel unnecessary most of the time because any question I could possibly have is met with at least a slight sigh. He says he tries but I remember a time when things were different. When things were effortless. And logic tells me that this is what happens when couples are together for longer but it feels so heavy and sad. Why am I the only one worried or saying anything. Have I dragged you into a life you ended up not wanting. Talk.

I had blood taken today.

Things that I’m supposed to enjoy doing are now just something else I am obligated to.

What a sour person I am.