Tears streamed from big brown eyes to tiny cheeks to round little chin. I cried out into the dark abyss of my apartment- why me? Why now? Why not him?
He needed his space. He's not happy with himself. He doesn't think God will forgive him for the little things he hasn't done in the past week. He says he has lost his faith, and that this happens every time he gets serious with a girl. He said I deserved better.
I tried to hang on for the first few hours. I tried to get him to talk to me, I pulled out his Bible and I read him a few passages- all two of them I could remember from
Matt's little "how to find your faith again in the Bible" crash course he gave me a couple months back. I asked questions. I hugged him, and I held him, and I tried my hardest to keep him from losing it.
"I don't need anybody right now."
"It's not right, Laban. You shouldn't go at this alone. It's better to have friends beside you."
"God will be beside me. I don't need anybody else's help."
His last image of me will be me gripping to collar of his shirt tightly, my face full of rage as I tried to decide weather to punch him, kiss him, or just walk away. I walked. I didn't even bother to close the door behind me, and I stomped down the stairs in a temper tantrum that would rival that of any two year old.
I screamed, I cried, and I screamed some more. I pulled his notes off my fridge and I ripped and tore until they were nothing but tiny wisps of what they once were. I emptied the yellow rose petals from the pages of my Bible where I had been pressing them, and I tore them up, too. I changed my Facebook status to single, and I cried and yelled some more. Then, I fell to my knees, and I prayed for him.
Scattering the contents under my sink, I found a fresh scented body wash that I don't use on a daily basis due to my soap allergy. I coated the bottom of the bathtub with it, then turned the knob to "steaming" and watched bubbles form. I lit a few candles, poured myself a martini glass full of the cheap wine, and shed my clothing, then sat there and soaked my body and cried and prayed until I felt my soul had been wrung out enough.
I went to bed at 8, every piece of me tired and sore to the core. I lay in bed fielding AIM messages from my amazing Xanga friends and IRL friends as well, telling everybody the same story, holding back the urge to say I hated him. I was full- full of regret- regret for wasted time, wasted heart, wasted everything. I missed Halloween to help him move, I gave up certain things in my life that I had been saving to him, I gave him my heart. I let this all out to my friends.
This morning, I woke up numb. The entire essential Jess was sore from terrible nightmares and inability to sleep. Then, I came to my senses. I pulled myself out of bed, walked into the bathroom, flipped on the smaller of my curling irons, and I curled my hair. I found the cutest outfit I could build from my closet, and I took a little extra time to make sure my make up was perfect. I ordered a triple caramel machiatto from Starbucks this morning, and I set my sights on school and my research.
Today will be emotionally draining. Tomorrow will be better. There will be times when the nights are long and the days are longer.
But morning will always come again, and with it the chance to change everything.
My chin is up, my smile is painted beautifully on my face.
This morning, I begin again.