I am right back where I started yesterday, in my room looking at a notebook and a desk. I look like shit and feel even worse. I know I need sleep, and so does my body. It is practically begging me for it. The ironic thing is right behind me is a comfortable bed with fluffy pillows and a comfy blanket. The bed stares at me and invites me to relieve my exhaustion. But when I accept its invitation nothing happens. My mind takes control of my body, not letting me find tranquility. It would rather have me lay there and fall into a deeper state of depression. Believe it or not, writing in this stupid notebook actually helps. It gives me some sort of hope or something. Well not hope, but it is more like it helps me relieve some of the emotions bottled up. I really don’t have people to talk to and the ones that I do I don’t want to bother with my stupid petty problems. I’m sure they have enough stuff to deal with in their own lives.
God I wish she would call me. I wish I could hear her voice for just a second. I know she is thinking of me. She has to be. Why won’t she just pick up the phone and call. I guess it is easier said then done. I can do exactly what I want her to do. I can give in and just call her. At the same time I know it is not the right thing to do. And it is not about who is strong or who’s weak. It is about what is truthful for both of us. It has come to the point that if we talk nothing will be fixed. We will just end up right where we left off. Eventually I will end up right back here again. At a desk with a notebook and pen ready to pour my heart out just because I can’t seem to fall asleep. This is the truth and it will never change. I must learn to accept it, no matter how much it tortures me.
