ain't no sunshine when he's gone...

Passengers aboard flight 040110, this is your captain MsHap speaking. I'm a disturbing mix of equal parts absolute heartbreak and absolute self-hate at the moment, following the dissolution of a relationship of sorts that I had with someone, right about 2 hours ago. I feel like an eerie prophet right now, as I called this break-up out in my welcome back blog two noches ago, and lo and behold, was finally dealt my K.O. punch. We had been sparring in love's ring since around independence day , on again, off again, taking little jabs at one another, landing some, but always able to recover from our various body blows with a little coaching from those in our corners, or a little vaseline and stitching. But not tonight. He floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee, and I, previously weakened from a little damage of my own I inflicted this past weekend, a bit of self-sabotage, went down without even time to shield my face from the punch he delivered. Oh, did I say face, I meant my heart.

We have been absolutely each other's everything and nothing all at the same time. Only a handful of people even knew of us, necessity really, and this level of seclusion was both emotionally and mentally crippling at times, and thoroughly exhilarating at others. It was the most pure love I have ever felt for a member of the opposite sex (family and friends excluded), and yet caused me more anguish than any alternate relationship I have ever been involved in, including my divorce. I have cried myself dry for this evening, running the tear gamut since this afternoon, ranging from the solo drop that creeps out of the very outside of your eye, and slowly snakes down your face, almost tickling you if not for the heart implosions that are transpiring simultaneously, the kind that you can almost pull off as a result of looking directly into the sun or your contact lens getting fucked up to the opposite end of the emotional spectrum, that of me speeding down the interstate home a bit ago, crying so hard it looked like my windshield was A) devoid of Rain-X & B) had no working wipers during an inland hurricane, me making that "I'm freaking the hell out" rapid sucking in of air "hic-hic-hic" breathing pattern, like a break-up's version of the pant-blow baby birthing breathing technique, except for pant-blow brings about new life, and "hic-hic-hic" usually only brings about more crying later when triggered by deciding it a good idea to get over the all falls down by watching Titanic again, or putting yourself to sleep with the help of top shelf liquor or ambien. And even there, in slumber, you're never that safe, that free, as lost loves are known to inhabit dreams as well. Well, at least all mine make sporadic cameos in mine, otherwise pleasantly unrealistic dreams until terrorized by these people who have crossed the ravines of my inner beat box, and struck a claim in some aorta, never deep enough to actually kill me, but always just enough to ensure that even years later, hearing "Already Gone" by Kelly Clarkson, the scent of Curve, or the sight of the back of their head can cause me to tense up, feel a legitimate tweak in my chest cavity, or acknowledge them, at least mentally for unGodly amounts of time. I know this one, he, will be no exception. In fact, I look for him to be far worse than any sort of post-break-up holocaust that I am subjected to, for the simple fact that although we were never publicly hung out to dry, that that is the point exactly, that our actual punishment starts now. That with each day that passes we will never be able to be together in the way that we want, isn't that what hell really is? Taking your key and placing it in another's lock, to discover that not only does it fit, but that the door swings wide open just as if welcoming you home, and then having the house's other owner come and take back your key or your stupid ass losing the only one ever made. Some people search their entire lives for that connection, and never find it. But others do, and because of their audacity to pursue it despite extenuating circumstances, will find that they are able to cultivate it in some backhanded manner, long enough for it to validate itself as real and bigger than themselves, and then have it removed, with or without warning somewhere down the road. This is God's way of letting us know, no matter what he allows, and what we think we get away with, we actually don't. And as far as punishments are concerned, he isn't worried about doling out anything above and beyond the end of this love. Because he knows, life from this point on, will be hell enough. Death would be easy, enduring without him, is a great deal harder.

Worse yet, was that tonight was the result of a string of actions that I have had going on intermittently since our start. I knew them wrong all along, or at least adverse to what he wanted, knew them potential minefields, and yet continued to strew them about and think that just because I knew where I had laid them, that I could lead him around them as well, or get them to keep their damn mouths shut under the ground. But, as is standard, I was only fooling myself, and in the moments this evening when my infamous mouth had not a damn thing to say, where tears replaced nouns, and verbs, and adjectives, where I couldn't put everything I had pre-planned for this occasion into coherent talking points, I have never felt like more of an idiot. Everything was going away and I was the cause. Although this is a concept I'm more than familiar with over my life, as dropping out of college will piss off your Asian mom, and keep you from getting a big girl job a little longer, doing things behind some one's back to the point that they hurt so bad that all the love they have for you is slowly bloodlet out of them, knowing all along but refusing to accept that this, that you, would be that razor blade that slit up their wrist, this is the feeling of self-loathing. To hurt those that love you unabashedly, to the point of no return, no reviving, no paddles or hugs or apologies or tears or your face on their face to bring them back to love, this is why I cried tonight. Oh, and because he could never quite look at me straight on, like his keys were way more important than I had ever been, like there was something on his immaculate dash that needed re-arranging. I literally slipped out his passenger side door after the silence in the vehicle began to choke what little air was left in my lungs from my previous obnoxious sobbing, and am surprised I didn't crumple outside the car onto the pavement like every bone had been extracted from my body and I didn't get the memo. I walked to my car, never turning around, as if on the way to the guillotine, about to lose my head, a modern day MsHap Antoinette, for my sins. But I would have welcomed that. Take my fucking cabeza. Just leave my heart. Anything, but my heart.

My heart peeled out faster than I could get my shaking hand to get my car keys in the lock. I wonder now when we'll speak again. I wonder now if we ever should. I've known us wrong for so long, and yet nothing feels this right. Resisting the urge to text him right now is like trying to keep your nose from wrinkling when you smell vomit or to keep from shouting "fuck" when you drop something on your foot. I would almost give away my ability to write if I could sink into a deep, lengthy sleep right now. But no, says God, I am only just beginning. Otherwise, how will you ever learn?

I miss you already. I'm so sorry. Te amo.

No 60/40 because everything in my mind is negative. I hope to feel a sliver of peace and progress in the morning. Good night. And to all you broken hearts out there...say hello and a little prayer for your new neighbor.