I don't think I'm any good to anybody right now. I'm moody and want to cry. The stupid part is that I know that I've made decisions or have allowed my thoughts to weigh down on me without concrete evidence. But, as I've mentioned before, I still have powers of perception, which, though they could be wrong, have been quite accurate in the past.

As a result, I'm not happy. I hate that only his voice or e-mail can turn my mood around. I don't think that's a good thing. At the same time, letting go of this means being COMPLETELY alone in that department. Not that I think it's a bad thing, because I've been that way before. It's just that added to this is the thought that he'll go to someone else.

I think that a mistrust of anyone new that comes along has settled in me. I don't want to go out with anyone. This only means that I'm not completely over the breakup, though I'm pretty much over him. And then I just get angry. Because I hate that in an indirect way, he still has power over me. It means that it really does take an obscene amount of time to get over someone you once loved deeply.

Its effect is scary and even emotionally debilitating. I do want to drown in something dark. Like the way it feels when you're asleep. But I don't really want to be asleep because I'm not consciously feeling myself heal. In a way, I want a controlled loss of feeling.

And so, it's no wonder that he can't possibly feel the same way about me now as he did before he left. The girl he met after a year isn't the same. She's quieter, more withdrawn, and content to watch the world, actively observe it, without stating her opinion on it. She's not quite sure where she stands on a lot of things---the loss of someone before threw everything up in the air. She doesn't laugh as loudly, jump around like a child, get excited very easily, or act silly very often. She does't know what to say to him because she wants so much for everything to be the way it was---fun and easy---but there seems to be too much to say that can't be said yet. She perceives that the result is undesirable. The projection of herself rather dim. She grows quiet in crowds and isn't sure how he takes this. She thinks the thoughts in his head go something like, "God this is pretty boring. What could we do that's exciting?" And, with a lack of ideas because she no longer brings out magical ideas in him, he opens a book, confirming the thoughts she conjectured were in his head.

She longs for him to know that she understands many of his thoughts and dreams, but hasn't found the right atmosphere or tone for such a conversation. They may never get to that point where they can talk that way again. She's saddened by this. Saddened and angered by the havoc that time wreaks and by the decay of even purportedly strong bonds.

She's frustrated by the helplessness that this knowledge brings. It's a crushing knowledge---that optimism doesn't yield lasting hope, that nothing that she played a part in creating lasts forever.

The pain is really hard to bear. She tries to keep it down. To remember that she's thankful for so many things. But sometimes, giving in to the enemy's grip seems her deserved fate. A punishment, of sorts, for allowing it to get close.