Anger & Sadness


Pullin Out Option B

original artwork purchasable

original artwork purchasable

­It’s that hard, inflated feeling that sits in like your left upper stomach almost in your heart, probably in the pit bottoms of the heart, that is deep and saturated with usually anxiety or guilt.

I loved him so much but at this point I had lost all the points to hang on to and he was not a likable person to be around. It was a gut wrenching feeling when the twisted turned upside down swirl of guilt for despising him and resenting him at times hating him, and at the same time feeling the drowning sensation if he left and my life without him snatching the breathe from my lungs kind of love for him.  It made sitting at the dinner table very difficult. I could see when he was “trying” and I wanted to forgive but the anger and pain just lingered like the sultry smell after a fire.  And as far as I could see he could try harder.  As much as I pictured it, I didn’t see him the same anymore. The man I met was gone.  The man I see in him now is cold and disconnected and not what I signed up for.  I asked myself,  “How do you stop loving someone? Is it possible?”  I didn’t want to let him go; However, I played that as a side effect from the actual being in love with the guy.

Sitting practically in the same room, myself at the dining room table yet still the most comfortable seat you could ask for. He’s at the oversized chair facing the flat screen glued to SportsCenter and SpikeTV, as he has been for the past three days.  I’m sure we were even with the indifference as to what kind of mood we both had. I sure couldn’t tell from the few exchange of words we have had what kind of tension it was today that filled the apartment.  So he’s at the chair and myself on my mac, I send a text:

“Sometimes I feel we don’t know how to talk to each other however I did want to just say “Hi.”  So…”Hola”

It read with a photo attached.  Thinking myself completely adorable for sending a text to communicate with a clip of my also adorable self as we sit in the same room unable to speak to one another. We knew if we did it was quickly escalating to screaming and shouting. The thought of being so clever creeps a smirk on my face as I hear the cute little bird chirp or whistle thing it is that is set as his text tone.  That hard rock, deep feeling of anxiousness blows up in my mid-section again as I know he is reading his phone.  Thankful for the light up of my own cell, silent mode but a distraction, unfortunate still being it is my mother calling once again.

A few minutes pass and all cellular objects are back down on their rested ottomans or table and I am noticing that he has not replied to my adorable text. He hasn’t said anything either. Aside from the interruption to my mothers phone call inquiring whether I spoke with our attorney about his speeding ticket as well, he hasn’t replied or acknowledged my digital peace offering at all. I didn’t understand! This bipolar son of … Okay lets calm down.  Unsuccessfully accurate each time, I think of what is going thru his mind. How we could connect but my head just doesn’t wrap itself around his reasoning and much less around any solution.

Torn. Now what?

 Option A:

And there I was upset. Going on about four hours of inconsistent crying interrupted by periods of anger and lulls of distraction from the random play of “B” rated movies.

Option B:

Be not here.




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