Midnight

I never do this usually, but I slept with my pearl around my neck. I usually take it off for showering and sleeping but I had to put it back on. I was just...

I don't know if it's yesterday's swimming that triggered it in the first place. I came out of the pool with a diffuse sadness that I couldn't quite tell if it was from being tired, from feeling restricted by my circumstances, or if it was because finally, the waters acted as a release catalyst. But yesterday evening I was tense, too. I thought of Hopoe. I wondered, again, if all of this was true, realistic, if I wasn't chasing a ghost that had evaporated a long time ago. If she hadn't moved on long ago while I'm still stuck at the beginning of the book. 

I thought of her competitive exam that could make her into an officer. Wondered if she passed. This question has been circling my head for months and even on the first day of work when my permissions were still my old ones, I didn't find this info. The building I initially thought she lived in has a lot of officers in it. 

I typed her full name on Google and got mostly Facebook results... and accidentally found out she likely moved into an apartment of her own (left a comment on a post from an estate agent), and looked to order furniture. Four or five months ago. 

I felt awful. Sick. Ever since I realized she wasn't on my floor I thought, what if she left to live with someone? Even if given how she reacted to me and how guarded she is... guess it's unlikely this would happen? What if she has a new person in her life, male or female? I'm especially scared about men: it would make it more "legitimate" socially than a woman. Plus I've liked enough straight or male-leaning bisexuals people to... be sensitized. I just know she's at least bisexual, because otherwise, I would've known fairly early. 

It seems to indicate she didn't pass (otherwise, why waste money into a new apartment if you're just going to be transferred in a few months... and then for a year? it would make no sense whatsoever), at least. What scared me about her passing was not that she'd succeed, of course, that would've been a good thing for her, but that she would be transferred this summer. I'd have no idea if she'd be back here the year following that prep year, and at the time, I wasn't considering the possibility I, out of all people, would be the one not to come back. That's one bit of the puzzle back into the picture and one worry off my list, at least. 

But it made me absolutely go nuts on the inside and I could not sleep. I felt cold, shaky. Made myself a hot water bottle. Even went to read near the toilet in case I threw up (which has happened once, unrelated to her, it was right after exiting my dad's home, so I definitely know a big amount of stress can make me toss my cookies). 

I don't even know if I'll be affected to this city if I do get an affectation, or if I'll be there again with a new contract, I just have absolutely no idea what the future's going to be for me, for us. If we're going to get separated geographically again and never get a chance to repair. I don't want a new person. I want Hopoe. She's not becoming yet another one on the pile. I'm not letting this be interrupted, forever unexpressed. Hell it's not about "getting her" like she's some kind of prize. It's about having a chance to express. Probably I did feel it was mutual from the first time, though I was holding back and we had just met, because my paper journal entries already mentioned it since before our golden age started. But to have it bloom... 

The worst isn't that she still hasn't replied to me and that my messages have two grey ticks still. It's not knowing whether I still have a place in her life or not. Not knowing... if I'm just in the past, for her. Filed away, one more on the list, never to be reopened again. 

I cried. I trembled like I was freezing. I was not feeling feverish, just so cold and shaky like I had been thrown on top of a mountain. My hot water bottle was not enough to calm me down: I microwaved my warmable kitten, took a Xanax, and first put my pearl on my nightstand, then straight up put it back around my neck, which, as I mentioned, I literally never do. I wanted my cat. I wanted my mom. I was all alone in this room and it was both the best and worst thing: nobody heard me cry myself to sleep. But also, nobody was here to hold me. And thinking about how I wanted my cat made me cry even harder. And still right now, as I'm typing this, my eyes fill with tears at the thought of him. 

Given that Hopoe and I seem to experience things in mirror... I wonder if she, too, has or is about to have an emotional breakdown like I did.

My tears though... perhaps they're not all about her. I think... this implosion, this crying, might be about everything I endured in the past months. About how I'm so tired of being the strong one, always being incapable of confiding in anyone. I wish someone was here for me and that I didn't have to type this into a blog. Someone who wouldn't go "you have to move on", "she doesn't like you", or "you're unhealthy", or just give unsolicited advice. Someone who wouldn't misunderstand, trivialize, blame me. Because I know it's not that. It's not that she never liked me. It's not that it was not mutual. It was. It still is. And it's suspended. It's in the air, stuck into limbo, waiting on a spark to light up the dynamite. And once it's underway... the beat will drop hard.

I'm so beyond tired of life never been quite free for me. That every step I take costs me something. That unlike most people, I can't just have stuff roll off my back, no, it will affect me for God knows how long. That I've come a long way, like a friend told me yesterday... but at a price so expensive I always feel the next one is going to finish me off, and it's not unrealistic to think I could be finished off completely at some point. I was nearly finished off back in November, after all. Who's to say that in spite of how much more assertive and intolerant of bullshit I've become in those few months, the next one still isn't going to smash me in a way that will either lead me to commit a crime, go to the hospital, or purely and simply... get on a trajectory where I am met with my end, not necessarily at my own hands?

In a sense there's a silver lining: if she has her own apartment and we manage to get closer again, then that means we have a space to... you know. Where I am, it's forbidden. But at her place? No one's looking. Sheets can fly, pillows can hit the walls and the fireworks of love can be shot into the sky without anyone losing her room. In the quarters, I can walk around without risking some awkward encounter around the building I thought she was in. I'm not even going to avoid the neighbourhood she's probably residing in: let's not stop living just because I'm scared she might bump into me. If I have any business there, I'll go or pass through. If I spend my life avoiding stuff just because I might possibly cause friction... then I'm just not living anymore, screw that. 

I mean, I already did 'Ori Tahiti and the workshop turned out to be in her FRIEND's association. I did NOT know that at the time, just that she had maybe already been there, but I found out when I wanted to take a doubt off my head after my feed threw a post where she was at a tamure marathon and the association commented on it, mentioning her. One of the reasons why I hesitated at first to even start dancing was that I was afraid she'd think I'm stealing her space or something, but... even if it were the case, that's still my life. I have as much right to be here as she is. 

Passing by a building on the street returning from the grocery store, my bag filled with applesauce, herbal tea and a bottle of skyr, I turned my eyes and saw the name of the estate agency that might be the one that owns her apartment. Like every synchronicity, I didn't even look for it. But I had no strength to even get a smile. I noted it, and carried on, still fighting the tears coming back.

I feel like destiny played me. We used to be reversed: she lives here, I lived outside. Now it seems to have gone the other way. I come back, she isn't around much for at least a month. I think things are going to resolve and in turn I get even worse pressure building up. I feel like the laughing stock of the universe. Like it decided to fuck with me, as it always does. That again, any happiness I have is immediately followed by disappointment, catastrophe, or turns out to be unreal. That deep down, I don't deserve and have never deserved to be happy, and that if I want something, I can already expect to be shit outta luck. Or to have the cost be so big any victory I have is a Pyrrhic victory.

And now I'm typing this. Dreading the asshole coming back tonight because I've spent two nights having to rely on medication to sleep, and I don't want to be a dull girl this week. Hoping I won't have to tell him off again, though this time he's in real trouble, because I reported him. One warning, two warnings, he could lose his room by the third. I almost wish him to, honestly. Dickhead needs a lesson.