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Sometimes I wonder what kept my mother from killing herself when she was my age, when she spent so much time sleeping on the couch and only waking up long enough to watch her soap operas. Was it me? My innocent little body always crawling next to hers, working myself close enough to feel her warmth? Or was it just living vicariously through the romances on the television?
I have neither cable nor Internet to distract me from my own desolation. I remember my mother crying once when she got the news that a friend from high school committed suicide, and how my young self tried to comfort her by saying I'd always be there to love her.
She never calls me, though.
I laid in my bed until 5:30 this afternoon. I got up long enough to call into work, and fell into a fitful sleep, waking up often. Luna never left my side, only shifting into a more comfortable position from time to time.
I got so mad at Patrick last night at Rocky's, because when he took my cable box when we moved out he successfully managed to ruin my credit by telling me over and over again he'd return it and my stupidly believing him. In a drunken fit I burst into tears and Andrew brought me home, and he told me this morning I should have gotten my shit together before getting into a relationship with him. He also told me he'd never loved anyone more than he loves me.
I'm waiting for him to get off work so that he can either mend or break my heart, as I have no idea what his intentions are at this point, but it he leaves I suppose I deserve it for being such a stupid human being.
10:34 p.m. - 2014-01-26
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