“Come And See Me, Sing Me To Sleep”
The room was dark but I could make out his profile as he sat up and perched his head in his hand. The faint light of the moon found his blue eyes and illuminated the perfect lips that had gently kissed my entire body just moments before. “I love you,” he whispered into the blackness. I shot straight up. “Excuse me?” I questioned. It had only been three weeks. This was only the first sleepover. “You don’t mean that.”
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “This is crazy: Everything just feels right.” He leaned over then, and pressed his lips against mine. Chills ran through my body and as he put his hand behind my head, I knew that I could melt away and be content for a long time.
“You don’t feel that?”
~
I purposely put my phone on the other side of my room before finally shutting out the light: It was one-thirty in the morning. I blew out my candle and decided to leave my playlist on- the dreary acoustic lullabies of Damien Rice filled the space and sparked mid-night fantasies. Scenes played in my head and projected themselves onto the floor; I imagined him opening my bedroom door and muttering “oh boy” after recognizing the playlist and eucalyptus spearmint scent. This wasn’t the first dark hour in our relationship history. He knew the songs and the melancholy rituals- he usually was the one to save me from myself.
I had no one last night. I asked him not to save me, because I knew that eventually the sun would come up.
And it has. And I can engage myself in the world and all that it has to offer, just like I did yesterday and the day before.
I haven’t cried after a break-up in years, though. And as I changed my relationship status on Facebook post-blog entry, I felt myself lose control. Tears cascaded down my face and I proceeded to weep until my body shook. Muscles contracted as I rolled into the fetal position, the skin on my arms burned as I pulled my pillow in. For the first time in a long time, I let myself experience the pain associated with…really anything. I feel like the honesty of my blog opened up a lot of old wounds- life and love indentations that had scarred abnormally due to lack of care.
And the vulnerability has been received by others. At 9:46AM, fifty-six readers had read last night’s post. I am shocked- this is the first time numbers have spiked in weeks. Months.
I wrote to my best friend this morning and confessed her prediction to me: Last night was rough. She had already read my blog as well though, and when I asked her about my moral obligation to confidentiality, she assured me that this was the best way to move forward and grow.
This is me without a filter or mind to the backspace button. My co-workers, friends, past lovers and future acquaintances may read this, and I ask that you all do just that- Read. I do not need sympathy in this period of time- I don’t need encouragement. I know myself and what I am capable of: I know the path that I am destined for and am confident that I will be okay. So I ask that you just stand beside me and swallow the optimistic clichés. I need my lonely hours to dig deep, and wish to challenge myself by creating my own magic. Find my inner voice.
This is my essential therapy.
