On Sleeping Well

19 Oct

When I was in high school, I wrote a pretty insufferable short story (shocking, I know) about a man who becomes the muse for this wealthy and emotionally bankrupt female artist. In the first part of the story, I described the man by saying, “He slept well, as the unloved generally do.”

Ten years later, after giving my heart away in a small white church and all the awful and lovely things that came after that day, I know I was right about that. Life is much easier when you don’t care about anyone. You get to float through the days, and well – if you get sick or you don’t show up, oh well. Your heart isn’t tied to anyone, so it can’t sink. Nor does it sing.

I haven’t been sleeping super well lately, and I can’t help but be fucking terrified. I always told my ex-husband that one of two things would happen to us: we would get divorced, or we would die. And either way, it was going to hurt. A lot. Everything comes to an end, and eventually all that you love will be carried away. And for the last couple of years, I have used that as an excuse to stay locked in my apartment and in my mind. It’s been good enough, you know. Bills get paid and the cats get fed. I don’t know that I want more, or even deserve it. I have never dreamed for a moment that I would go the rest of my life without being hurt. I expect to be hurt. I also expect the pain to be worth it. So far, the loves of my pathetic life have been worth the trouble. I would take every blow again. I don’t know that I’m ready for more, but…I think it’s time to try.

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