Found Unread 6/7/13

      That summer, the summer after the storm, after all of the storms, I stayed at the beach where I grew up. The boardwalk was brand new and there were trucks along the beach where the restaurants used to be. Shiny silver trailers selling greasy beach food to the tourists gawking at the new beach, complaining about the rocky sand. I stopped writing because, well, I pretty much had stoppped doing everything that I found enjoyable. I drank too much, smoked too much, worked too much, I didn't leave much time for thinking because thinking hurt and I was sick of hurting. I bought a lot of things I didn't need, trying to fill some gap in me. I knew it wouldn't work but I tried it anyway. I was never alone. Maybe I was tricking myself into appreciating lonliness by never allowing myself to feel it. My heart was closed and all the reiki in the world couldn't keep it open. Most of the time I felt pretty happy, enjoyed the silly things I was doing, giggling while sneaking champagne into the movie theatre, smirking behind my margarita at the bar, smiling with the sun in my face. I ate pretty well, I juiced often and did yoga once a week. 
      Once in a while I'd cave and see him. It was usually when I'd reached a point of feeling okay about the whole thing, I'd think to myself that I didn't want to be with him or see him, that I was over it all. I could convince myself that I didn't love him when we were apart but I couldn't convince myself to stay away for too long after that. I'd figure I'd see him, and feel nothing still, and the battle would be over. I'd win. Only I never won, neither of us did. We'd just end up sitting stoned in my car in the driveway of some party, talking in the rain with the sunroof open above us, terrified to touch each other, to admit that we would inevitably, spend the night together, regardless of how we tried not to. The truth was, every so often we needed each other. Just to be right again, to be ourselves. Time spent with him was like a drug that I needed to feel alright. The world would disapear, everything would disapear and all that there was was us, eating weed candy and confusing whose limbs were whose. We'd talk about the good times, always, and never really bring up the nightmares we'd been through. He would tell me sometimes that nothing terrible would ever happen to us again. I guess he didn't realize it was already happening, it was still happening, and to be honest, I didn't know if it would ever stop. He would promise that one day we'd be together like we always should have been, one day we would travel together, see the world, experience everything like I'd always wanted. "You shouldn't promise," I would tell him, "I know, I never do, but I am." As if I'd believe him still, after all the promises he'd made.