Neurosis Strikes Again.

I have officially crossed into the darkness; into the cold, agonizing world I tried so desperately to avoid all together. I can't convey to you just how much I fought this from occuring; however, as always, my tactics in the art of love and war have failed. My emotions have forced me to forfeit the battle between my heart and my mind, and, of course, logic has failed to prevail once again.

I am far too much of an emotional being to continue my charade. Assuredly, my moment of glory has been had, and I am no longer capable of hiding that which I have so greatly strived to bury and suffocate.

It has been said, "pain is weakness leaving the body." If this is so, I should be much stronger than I am now. Perhaps it only refers to physical pain, and not that which can cause so much detriment to an individual's psyche. My heart is in a state of turmoil I have very little chance of escaping. There is but one cure for it, and that cure looks to be as unobtainable and unfathomable as the cures for cancer or AIDS.

This morning, I called my mother in hysterics. I could not understand how I had let myself fall into the same disastrous patterns of romance that I always do. I could hardly breathe due to the uncontrollable crying, thereby hyperventilating.
"I didn't want this. I hate this," I said, confessing my latest epiphany regarding the so-called 'relationship' in which I have been involved for the past two months.
"I'm too far gone, it's too late," I confessed, more terrified than I've been in ages. She assured me that all would be well, and for me to spend the day trying to make new friends and meet new people. New potential prospects? Was she mad? She could not possibly know the vehemance or fervency with which I know found myself so troubled for this amazing individual.

I spent the remainder of the morning toiling with outbursts of tantrums and tears, letting my neuroses take full hold of me. I cleaned everything, straightened everything, moved furniture around, threw things away and down the trash chute. I played the saddest songs about love, empathizing with each of them, feeling and wishing as though I had been the creative being to have borne them first.

Somehow, I managed to calm myself just enough to shower, dress, and walk to the bookstore, where I would further fuel my obsessive thoughts and anxiety about this individual I so perilously desired to let me into his heart and make me his. I had already made the mistake to allow him into mine, and, should he say the word, would leap at the opportunity to be his. I sat and read again the story he had once instructed me to read, as he claimed it to be 'the story of his life.' I yearned to be close to him, and would stop at nothing to understand and ameliorate any pain from which he suffered, to offer my ear to his words, or my arms for his comfort, my joy for his sorrow.

The sun shone brightly before I had entered the bookstore and sat down to read this so-called 'life story' with which the boy I'd fallen so dangerously in love with had empathized. I closed the book upon completion of the last page and found that rain poured down just outside. I sighed to myself, feeling slightly better upon reading this intense tale once again, and placed the book back in its proper place upon the shelf. I ran back to my apartment in the heavy rain, a newspaper my only shield from it.

As soon as I entered my apartment, I flung myself onto my bed and felt my very own waterworks starting to pour. What was wrong with me? Why was I allowing myself to be so consumed by something that, only a short time ago, felt so free and simple and easy? How was it that I could not return to that state of sheer complacency that he once offered me without even being around?

It had been three days since I'd seen him last. We'd spoken, of course, on a constant and daily basis, but all plans made fell through and did not happen. I found myself alone and pining for him. I ached to be held, to be touched, to be kissed, to simply be in his presence would have been enough. Sex was never just sex for me when it came to him. There was a passion I bore for him that could not and would not be explained logically. It just was, it just existed. I felt so incredibly safe and at home with him, unafraid of myself or what was to come, never doubting, never fearing. What had changed in this brief absence?

It was late last night when I stumbled upon this epiphany. I began to wail and sob like an infant, holding myself as tightly as I possibly could because I had no one there to do it for me. I had denied every romantic thought I possibly could involving him to avoid being hurt again, and in doing so, allowed all that emotion to well up inside until it simply exploded out of me. It is how I came to love so intensely, and always has been. It creates a hunger that cannot be sufficed, a yearning that cannot be satiated, a passion so great, it knows no bounds. I have yet to find a man capable of handling a connection so powerful, let alone a twenty-two year-old boy.

The storm outside is beginning to abate, but the one I now harbor has just begun. I know not where to turn or what to do. My one hope is to let the Universe drive and pray that perhaps he will one day feel so boldly for me, his ever-waiting, ever-willing mistress.