I wake up every day where I always said I wanted to be and still I wonder if he’ll ever love me like I think I need him to or if I’ll ever again feel as proud as I did telling people I was moving to New York.

He cooks and cleans and walks our dogs in the morning so that I can get that extra 15 minutes of sleep I swear I need to be happy and I spend my time talking myself out of doing what I love most for the fear of finding out that I could get everything I’ve ever wanted out of life and still not be happy; terrified to find out with certainty what I’ve always known to be true: I don’t know how to be happy.

So I am starting my 28th year of life trying to be positive, reminding myself daily how lucky I am just to be breathing, no matter how shallow the breath. I am starting my 28th year by climbing out of a big, dark, freezing, pool of depression and I’m sitting here, clothes still drenched in sadness, and I am trying. I’m walking on sunny sides of streets, I’m drinking more water, I’m brushing my hair at least half of the week and I’m crying during the second to last song at Soulcycle because it’s the only healthy release I know.

I am trying – to kick, push, or even doggy-paddle my way to the other side of this.



Round and around and around and around we go.

I came around to telling you I missed you. You never said it back. “Must be lonely,” making an assumption about my plan to go a year without sex. I let you know I felt more lonely spending time with men that weren’t you, doing things I was predetermined to believe you did better. And instead of trying to force different squares into the never ending circle that is you and I, I chose to do without. Round and round I went while you remained still in the center of it all, watching me spiral. A series of me reaching my hands out to touch you while you slipped yours into your back pockets for whatever you had waiting there for you, someone you saved for later. I told you I knew what I wanted and you told me to spell it out for you as a business proposal. You wanted my feelings bullet pointed, our future outlined, and steps for getting there. You said that once I submitted you would review and decide whether or not you accepted my terms. I did not accept that, the idea that my love should be submitted for review. But now it makes sense, your arrogance, I was one of two. You wanted to hold my heart up to the light to see if the light would shine through and when I didn’t lay my bare flesh in your hands for you to examine all the holes you dug you decided to bury your face in the neck of someone else. But maybe she’d like that about you, maybe she’d confuse your RFP with you having an idea of what you want. I know all too well you have not once in your life known what you want and that if you did you expected it to sleep on your doorstep until you were ready to let it in. Maybe she wrote paragraphs about your charm and went on for pages about the way your voice made her heart explode. Maybe she filled a blog with her thirst for your love. I’ve filled notebooks with pieces of you and all the while you told me you didn’t like to read.

Must be lonely, knowing your love is not worth the weight.