Not feeling it.

I should be thrilled right now. I should, really. Netty, who I haven't seen in like two years, will be here in one week. I will be going to College City next weekend both to visit Butthole and to over-indulge in sushi. What do I have to complain about, right? Nothing, that's what. I feel completely free to blame my hormones at the moment but that doesn't change the way I feel. I am ok now. Mostly neutral. Last night I wasn't ok.
It was kind of sudden, as usual. I don't know what triggered it, as usual. Butthole may have triggered it. Yesterday I woke up out of it as it was. On that note I did something really lame. I told Butthole so. The distance is getting to me (didn't you know?) and I asked him if he could say something nice to me in a non-joking way from time to time. You see, as much as I know he misses me I think it's easier for him to deal with it by joking. He still tells me he misses me but he's not as sweet as he used to be. That's bound to happen, right? It's beena year and a half. The honeymoon's over. I don't want to be in a relationship where I'm not free to talk about my feelings, though, so I told him. He replied with "I love you, I can do that." But he didn't do that... all day. Which, whatever, I guess.
We were on the phone last night I tried to prompt him to say something nice but he didn't bite. Oh well, hints aren't our thing, but I had already been direct so I'm not going to be the fool who begs for affection. Then I got upset. Who knows why. Suddenly I'm on the phone with him and I'm upset. Next thing I know I'm sobbing quietly into the phone. I'm not going to let him hear me cry, though, eff that. So I said good night. You know what he did? He asked me if I was ok. He's far from stupid, and he actually knows me pretty well. He always asks if I'm ok when I'm not- that's certainly not a coincidence. What's the problem, then? The problem is that I said I was fine and we got off the phone. Have you ever been told "If you have to ask..."? That's it. If he asks then he already knows the answer. So why did he get off the phone? I guess he's learned to avoid my "moods." I can't fault him, and I'm not angry. I'm just sad. If he had pushed for an answer I would have given it to him. I don't want him to fix things but I do want him to care. If there was ever a time to say something nice that was it. So I got off the phone and cried.
You know those scenes in movies and shows when they show a dark apartment/house without any music and all you hear is ambient noise? It seems so large and desolate. I swear last night I felt like I was in one of those scenes. Suddenly I was struck by the largest feeling of loneliness and emptiness. Suddenly my apartment felt empty and vast and hollow. I was alone. I was so alone. For a moment I thought of my death. My death by any means. I wasn't contemplating suicide. I just thought "What if I died right now?" For the life of me I couldn't picture anyone grieving. Normally when I feel really depressed and like death is the only release I can easily deflect the idea because I can see how distraught all of my loved ones would be. Last night, for the first time, I just couldn't see it. I pictured Butthole sort of standing there being told I was dead and him not so much as flinching. It wasn't denial, either, it was pure indifference. Phatty would be too busy to care. Nalga would be too far away to be concerned. Mom would never find out because she's not talking to me and no one would bother to tell her since it's not important. Little Brother would continue to be himself. Then it was gone. I wasn't better but I was over that low point. I was laying there having other thoughts. Some happy, some random, some neutral. That was it. The moment passed.
Maybe I should look into that B12 supplement... mood swings like that can't be healthy. Obviously there's an underlying cause and the feelings come from a real place, but I shouldn't let them consume me like that.
I wonder if I simply repressed the sadness or if I truly let it go. I tend to do that, I think. If my life was a cartoon you'd see a close up of my brain and a growth singing "I'm a tumor I'm a tumor I'm a tumor" (that's from Family Guy, people!).
Oh yes. I shouldn't gloss over that, I guess: My mom and I aren't speaking again. This time it's pretty serious. That words "get the eff out of my life" may have come out of my mouth. I just wish today's entry from Sleep Talking Man had been posted before. It would have been better if I'd said it like he did: "Hey, I've got a great idea. You f*** off out of my life forever. Perfect!" At least then I would have made a humorous grand exit as opposed to my dramatic one. Alas! I'm Latin... I suppose I was made for drama.
Am I ok? No. But right now I can't get in tune with my devastation. It's there, believe me, but I wouldn't knock you for doubting me. It's hard to believe someone so stoic when they tell you they're distraught. Phatty asked me if I was ok when I told her. I said "No", of course. But I left it at that. Why talk about something that can't be fixed. Butthole didn't ask. I don't think he believes he needs to ask. I think he thinks I'm fine. I don't think he believes me when I say I'm bothered by my rocky relationship with my mom. Oh well... He's not often bothered by anything I feel. Oh well.
So I'm just not feeling it right now. Life, that is. I can't find it in me to be bothered either way. No crying. No laughing. Just good ol' repression for me. Hopefully my head doesn't blow up.