Day 1: Get the Eff Outta Bed, Depression is Not at All Sexy

I erased every trace of her from my phone today. Numbers, texts, pictures, videos, songs…songs? Songs did you say? Yeah, you know, like the ones that remind me of her?
Even missed calls and dialled numbers…I got rid of it all. Its not the first time and the last time was absolute hell: I couldn’t eat, rarely left the house, even got a smidgen suicidal. Of course she never knew that. Never will. Not unless she reads this anyway. & before any of you get all slack in the jaw I think I should express that the suicidal thing was a culmination of things. The broken heart just the icing on the cake (Yeah, I know, the analogy sucks but you’ll get over it and I’m sure you get what I mean anyways).
This time, however, I don’t intend to let it get that far. I will not let my measure of self preservation prove to be more self destructive than self serving. Not this time. Because this time around my intention is not to completely crush her from my mind but merely to reduce on her playing time.
“But are such extremes really necessary?” You might ask. Well, I really couldn’t tell you. “My ass.” you might probably add. “You know they’re not. They didn’t work then. Why should they work now?”
One half an hour phone call later and I feel a little foolish. Maybe I was a little too hasty. Maybe I should have thought things out a little bit more. And I’m not only talking about carving her out of my phone. I’m also talking about what came before that. That dreaded text message. The one I sent her slightly drunk and highly susceptible. The one where I basically told her that I not only didn’t want her to come and see me but that I did not want to see her…ever.
That’s not what I meant but it is how it sounded. And once examined in the harsh glare of sobriety and headache inducing sunshine, I realised, “Oh, fuck. What did I juss do?” and so I told myself I would call her. Explain myself. That although I had not intended to say that, I had intended to tell her something like it. Or if not that then at least the rationale behind my thinking. And so I did. I told her that I had realised that during the course of our entire relationship, everything I had done had been to make her happy. To give her what she wanted. To make her feel comfortable. To put her at ease. Without any regard for what I wanted or what I felt or for what I needed. and that even now, with us clearly in the gutter (We’re calling it “keeping it casual”) I’m still doing it. And to tell you the truth, that wouldn’t be such a problem; trying to give her what she wants right now, which happens to be space with a capital “S”, if it wasn’t making me so fucking miserable.
I told her I just couldn’t do it anymore. That right now, what I needed was to care less about her and more about me. And you know what the best part about it was?she told me that she understood. And so although the conversation was not really half an hour but more like twenty-two minutes (but in this case, does eight minutes really make much of a difference?) by the end of it I felt placated and ready to take the next step. Now, if only I knew what that was…