what are you waiting for? in Journal

i do feel, more and more, that i am just biding my time. waiting for … something. not sure what the specifics of the ‘something’. or maybe i am just wasting my time, completely. most days feel the same and i am stuck in a routine that i mainly dislike. i am alone 80% of the time and it is killing me. i wake up in mental and physical pain that seems to be something new every week. i think about death more and more and spend more time staring into oblivion than well, doing anything.

the isolation is upsetting. i try to talk to J about it, but it feels like i am not a priority. not even a second priority. i wish i was first.

there was a time he would take a day off work to hold me and now it is the complete opposite. i think i just want to be with him more. at first i told myself the time apart was good for us - ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’ or whatever - but now i just miss him. i miss waking up next to someone. i miss staying up with someone. i miss falling asleep with someone. i miss spending - multiple days - with someone. one day a week isn’t enough. the rare two days a week isn’t enough.

i don’t want to be that person that demands attention when it is not due. but is this not worthy? a pandemic rendering most people isolated and disconnected? a world where social interaction is only really safe metres apart? work is quiet and barely takes my mind off things. i want to feel him again. i want to be with him again.

i tell him i can’t trust him and i criticise the promises he doesn’t keep. he tells me he will do better. he tells me ‘soon’ and ‘not now’. but i don’t want to wait anymore. months of near isolation is rotting my brain and my body. i need him. i need comfort. security. solace.

it is hard to trust someone when they spend hours a week sequestered away. complimenting thin blonde women online feels like a direct affront - a slap in the face. “this is why i don’t come home” is what it reads to me. he tells me the opposite but the lack of trust makes it hard for me to believe him. he has never told me the truth himself before. why would he now?

i am so used to discomfort. truth. honesty. trauma. it’s how i was raised. alongside a broken home with broken people in broken worlds, taking it out on each other. screaming across the dinner table all my flaws and false truths. now, i don’t even trust myself. i feel it’s something that people take for granted. J doesn’t stir awake and lose sleep over his lack of trust. i guess i’ve never given him a reason to. he knows i am isolated here for long hours. i am not the one spending 12 hours a day with random strangers. two of which he would dangle over my head, embarrassing me with.

i don’t really want to think about it anymore. i wish i had a therapist when it all went down. someone to unpack it all with. instead i had quarantine, myself, and a quiet, lonely apartment. i used to like the quiet when i left home. but now, ironically, i miss the shouting. the obnoxious laughter. the fights. anything to break this fucking silence. sometimes i’ll leave the TV on all day just to pretend there is someone here with me. is that sad?

last night i poured my heart out to him. i told him all my darkest insecurities and he just… sat there. i felt his pity and it hurt. i don’t want pity, i want warmth. i want security. i guess i keep asking for things that he just can not give. things he either doesn’t want to give or has given to someone else. how do you heal from the hurt and the pain?

i really wanted to grow and be better but i don’t feel like i am. i still feel stuck. stuck in this pit. the deep, dark pit. every night i have nightmares of ghosts and harsh words. moments i want to forget. when does it stop? does it ever?

i just want it all to end. maybe that’s what i’m waiting for. the end to come. the pain to stop. the drama to vanish. i used to think i was waiting for healing and happiness but it just doesn’t feel possible anymore.