a distant ship's smoke on the horizon

I think I should be flailing on the ground, wailing at the sky. I think should be beating my chest and tearing at my hair. I feel like I need to let something out. Something big. And it's not that I don't want to, or am ashamed, or am afraid of being seen as weak or overly-emotional or whatever. I would quite happily be a weak and watery mess, for a little bit. It's just that I CAN'T. Like I'm emotionally constipated.

To bring those of you who I haven't already ranted at, up to speed. Saturday was Ryan's birthday. We had sent out invitations to about 12 of his friends. We were going to spend the whole weekend up at my family holiday place at Jamieson, drinking and celebrating. Instead, he spent his 20th birthday in a prison in Queensland, awaiting court appearances regarding various quite serious (in my book anyway) crimes.

The latest of these alleged crimes, I only found out about on Friday. Apparently I was the last to know. It's a head-fuck. It basically means Ryan was (allegedly) doing seriously bad things while we were still together ~ practically living together and - so I thought - sharing everything. I don't know what the timeframes are; I don't know when he stopped living on the straight and narrow and building a future with me, in exchange for this irrational and self-destructive tangle of dishonesty and stealing. I am simply left - with no answers - to wonder just how much of our relationship was a lie.

So all of this combines to form the black monster - dark fur matted with fetid slime, gnashing jaws dripping toxic mucous - that is living inside me just now. This is the twisted knot of filth I can't expell from my brain and my heart. Don't fear, dear readers. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I understand this is the kind of feeling that leads people to become 'cutters': to feel and control the release of real definable sensation. But fuck that - I don't do physical pain.

This is the kind of feeling that would usually be released by getting drunk and watching magnolia by myself ~ crying for a solid three hours would usually do the trick. But alcohol - my always-reliable emotional laxative - seems to fail me this time. All the tried-and-true methods of emotional outlet are leaving me cold, numb.

I think what it comes down to is that this is just going to take time. Dammit. As much as I'm a dweller and an over-analyser, I'm also impatient! I just want to be able to move on, already! *sigh* Ahh well. Sorry if this blog entry has been totally self-indulgent, not to mention a bit of a downer. Here's hoping (for all of our sakes) that this cloud in my head finally lets go its rains sooner rather than later ...after which I can step back into the sunshine and enjoy all the light the future holds.

(p.s. It's true what they say about you-know-what.)

~~~~~~~