The Virginity Monologues

I am strung really tight right now. My anxiety levels are at their peak and I haven't slept through the night in weeks.

My doctor gave me some coping techniques, but sometimes I'm too worked up to even concentrate enough to do them.

I go to court again tomorrow morning against my apartment management company. This should be the final showdown. I am nervous because this doesn't affect just me, but my 3 other roommates as well. I'm angry that things have gotten to this point and that people really can be this horrible.

I'm upset because I called Oscar last night, sad and needing him. Yes, I admit it, needing him. I wanted him there with me, but in the absence of the comforting presence of his arms, I just wanted to talk to him. I wanted to laugh about stupid things and work on our plan to have sex in a public place. He was so cute and adorable on the phone, on his way to his boy's house to watch a football game and promising to call me when he got home.

"Bye baby," he said.

And I was giddy and happy.

Until I woke up at midnight to the deafening silence of a phone not ringing, and didn't fall back asleep until 3. Then I woke up again at 6, even though my alarm doesn't go off until 7:30.

And in those hours of wakeful anticipation, I knew in my head all of the reasons why I was being a complete nutcase. I knew that he was with his boys and that anything is possible in those situations. I knew that he might have come home exhausted and fallen asleep on the couch as he is frequently wont to do. I knew that a promise to call isn't binding and that almost everyone I know doesn't always call when they say they will.

But I'm still strung tightly today. I find myself fighting tears at the most ridiculous moments and I am clinging to my plans for wine and tapas with Spatch tomorrow night like a life-line for when Things Will Be Normal Again.

Today's Title from: I Used to Love Him by Lauryn Hill

Labels: anxiety, Oscar

4:30 am: Firecrackers right outside my window had woken me up an hour earlier and I am lying in bed, unable to go back to sleep, despite being absolutely exhausted.


I am thinking of how to end things with Oscar. Oscar who had called me on Sunday, then promised to call on Monday and I haven't heard from him since. I finally broke down and called him last night (late, around 11:45ish), despite that I generally am violently opposed to calling someone that has promised to call me. He didn't answer and he didn't call me back.


I am remembering all the nights that I waited for calls from Scott. Calls that didn't come.

I poke my mental fingers at the emotional bruises caused by the months of silence following The Consumation of Marc. And curse myself for the thrill I felt at text I received yesterday from him where he called me 'baby'.

I remember my street in Portland, OR. The street where I spent countless hours, riding up and down it on my bike, waiting for my dad to show up. For the fleeting moments of my life when he would be fulfill his parental obligation. I wonder sometimes if he denied me his love the most because I was the one who wanted it the most desperately.

I feel anxious.

I feel helpless.

I feel sadness.

Not able to escape my mind this time, unable to talk myself down from my Tower of Irrational Fear of Rejection, I head into the living room to distract myself with re-runs of Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It keeps my demons at bay long enough for exhaustion to take over.
___________________________________________________________________

11:30 am today

I am talking to my sister, who informs me that my childhood best friend, Shauna, had called our mom to get a more current email address for me.

Tiff: Oh, by the way, Mom told Shauna that you aren't going to church anymore. (Shauna is quite devout and it will cause quite a stir that I am no longer attending)
Me: Really? Why did she tell her that?
Tiff: Because Mom's new plan is to shame you into going back to church.

And my day officially just got worse.

Going home next week is going to be SO joyful. I can tell already.

Can I please just go home and bury my head under my covers with a big box of Godiva chocolates?

Today's Title from: Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

Labels: anxiety, Oscar