Faithful One,

I depend on you. This is a hard day. Please be near me. Though my heart is in shambles and I feele like dying, teach me to say, "It is well with my soul."In your name and with your permission and power I banish self-hatred, that unloving spirit, and declare that it is not welcome near me. I banish dread and send it to fellowship with self-hatred instead of with me. I will not play cards with devils today. I will call on you all this day, again and again. For you, O Lord, are a Shield about me, my Glory, the Lifter of my head. I love you, I honor You. Be not far from me, O God. I will not leave You. "All through the storm, your love is the anchor. My hope is you alone."
Yours, Acceptance With Joy

The Break-Up : Wallowing

As a strong advocate for wallowing, it has disturbed me that thus far I've done very little. Being a cut and run, pretend it's not happening kind of girl, I have filled my days since the break-up and banished most of the sadder notions to the far reaches of my mind. However, now that everything is a bit more settled and the boy is no longer trying to change my mind and providing situations where I get to fight against him and subsequently trade my grieving for anger, it is time just about time. To Wallow: to indulge in an unrestrained way, to roll about in mud or water. I am going to draw a bath and roll about in my indulgent tears in an unrestrained way until I feel I have grieved appropriately.
As much hope as I have, as much as I enjoy the freedom, as much as I appreciate being able to read philosophy and not have to consider how I would try to explain it to the boy if I could even bring myself to try to share it with him, this is a sad sad business. The last thirty hours have been exceptionally emotional. It hits me in waves when something triggers an unexamined knowledge that I've shoved away; a picture will come of Matty curled up in bed late at night crying, a realization that someday I will have a wedding and I won't be marrying him, a strong memory of his smell will fill me, or I'll use a saying that I stole from him. I hate thinking about all the wonderful things I am going to do and not share with him. I miss him. It is still the right thing to do, but I miss him so very much.
Seeing him is mostly ok now, until the end. Leaving him is very awkward and very very hard. I want him to hold me, I want to kiss him, I want to assure him that I love him, make him laugh. I want him to be happy when he walks away from me. But there is no way that can be. We have always been terrible at saying goodbye, even for the shortest of intervals. Now it is pure agony. I didn't fully value how much I love his neck; I fit perfectly under his chin and his neck is so smooth but manly and it smells so wonderfully Matty-like. It makes me cry almost every time he hugs me. I don't like this. I don't like it one bit.
So leave me to my wallowing and send me your most sympathetic thought.

I can still recall our last summer
I still see it all
Walks along the Seine, laughing in the rain
Our last summer
Memories that remain

We made our way along the river
And we sat down in the grass
By the Eiffel tower
I was so happy we had met
It was the age of no regret
Oh yes
Those crazy years, that was the time
Of the flower-power
But underneath we had a fear of flying
Of growing old, a fear of slowly dying
We took the chance
Like we were dancing our last dance ...

And now you're working in a bank
The family man, a football fan
And your name is Harry
How dull it seems
Are you the hero of my dreams?

The Break-Up : In Summary

as told by The Postal Service.

Boy - Will someone please call a surgeon
Who can crack my ribs and repair this broken heart
That you're deserting for better company?
I can't accept that it's over...
And I will block the door like a goalie tending the net
In the third quarter of a tied-game rivalry
So just say how to make it right
And i swear I'll do my best to comply
Tell me am i right to think that there could be nothing better
Than making you my bride and slowly growing old together

Girl - I feel I must interject here you're getting carried away feeling sorry for yourself
With these revisions and gaps in history
So let me help you remember.
I've made charts and graphs that should finally make it clear.
I've prepared a lecture on why i have to leave
So please back away and let me go

Boy - I can't my darling i love you so...
Oh, oh
Tell me am i right to think that there could be nothing better
Than making you my bride and slowly growing old together

Girl - Don't you feed me lines about some idealistic future
Your heart won't heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures

Boy - I know that I have made mistakes and i swear
I'll never wrong you again

Girl - You've got a lure i can't deny,
But you've had your chance so say goodbye
Say goodbye

Like-Minded. Mate for the Soul.

Make My Heart Sit Down

or "Mattison Tried To Kiss Me Today." Whichever you prefer.
My exhaustion is complete. You know I haven't been sleeping properly, but last night I only slept a few hours and I worked all day today. Combined with that are the intense emotions and spiritual happenings of the middle of last night and the turmoil caused by my lately-ex boyfriend's doings an hour ago. In what state of mind would a person think that kind of action would ever be acceptable? Large rolling tears have been the result of my last four encounters with him and never do I see or talk to him without suffering from aching nausea afterword. I need to get away.
I am going to get away. In the fall, I am moving to Santa Barbara in search of education and sensational experience. It will probably be only one semester, but who knows what will befall me there. You know what Bilbo used to say, "It's a dangerous business Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road and if you don't keep your feet, there's no telling where you might be swept off to." There will be danger and discomfort and intrigue and joy. An interesting precedent is being set here; my desire is stronger than both my fear and apathy. In my current exhausted state anxiety is getting the better of me, but I am generally thrilled. My thoughts are ever bent toward the fall.

The Break Up: Week One

I have managed the first week with remarkable simplicity.
I cried. I grouched. I kept busy.
There hasn't been much sleep involved, thus my moods are becoming increasingly dicey and sharp. Hopefully tomorrow I will figure in a nice nap to catch up on some of my heavily decreased shut-eye. I just cannot manage to go to sleep at a reasonable hour regardless of how close I am edging to the line between plain tired and weary or fatigued. Each morning I wake up and think, "Tonight I'll be asleep by nine!" or "Today is the day for that nap." It makes no difference; I always find something to do instead. It could be that I am afraid of the moments before I have reached the shores of sleep when I would be laying in bed with only the company of my thoughts. It could be that I've lost my sanity, or perhaps just my self-will. Whatever the reason, I remain resolutely awake.
In the past few days I have delved into a bit of research on the actor Christian Bale who has been somewhat intriguing to me ever since I discovered him in "Little Women" as the beloved Laurie. His fierce privacy agitates my propensity to want to know everything. That propensity coupled with my persistent fascination with things I can't know or places I am not allowed to go, is a compelling force in my psyche. However, I am at this moment regretting the aforementioned propensities and fascinations. The ever-so-interesting Mr. Bale made a movie called "American Psycho" which I am relieved to report that I did not watch but also very sorry to say that I did extensively read about. The resulting state of mind can be described by no other word than disturbed. Why is it so easy and thrilling to ignore the kindly voice in my soul that warns me to stop reading... or not say... or don't do...? I do hope that the day will come when it has become my guide rather than the silly thing that tells me what i should (oh curse that word!) do.
I began this post with the intention of detailing my first single week in two years. Perhaps tomorrow... After all, tomorrow is another day.