Just got done with the Saturday night performance of the play. The final one for this week. Really intense tonight. We were all on fire. The crowd really felt it. Still feeling sick. So didn’t hang around too long meeting and greeting. Fighting a depression of some kind. A general malaise. Feelings of resistance. It’s that feeling of waiting for something to happen and you’re thinking, “now when that happens then I can be happy.” And I am not exactly sure what that is. Just waiting. Bored. Sad. I know I’m not the only one. I see it in everyone. They go out and drink. Get drunk. Smoke pot, take pills, eat, watch TV till they fall asleep, whatever. Something, anything to fight the feelings, the pain. 

I have felt those desires crawling up in me lately. “O.K. well you know tonight, the play is over, I’m just sitting here. maybe I’ll just do this….” but I am beyond that. It doesn’t even seem like an option now. Now there is a strong desire for purity more than ever. So when the feelings do come up I would rather just feel them and explore them—if you have to cry, you cry, or if you have to scream, you scream, let it out—get to the core of them, find out where they are coming from. I have been here before. I know it is a short road between agony and relief; between grief and happiness. Although it doesn’t feel like it sometimes. But the key is in feeling the feelings, owning them, owning what’s underneath them, and then letting them go, and then refocusing on your true self and your true desires. 

I remember when me and Cleo broke up. We had moved down to Miami together and by the time we actually moved here, we were already broken up. So here we were in this brand new city that we worked so hard to make this big move to, but we were separated. Lived in separate houses. We told ourselves that it was only temporary. That we were doing it to get some space so we could work it out and get back together, but both of us knew I think inside that it was over, that we were going to be moving on. We both started dating other people. Sharing our experiences over the phone or over dinner sometimes. And little by little it became more and more apparent that it was permanent. That it was really over. We never talked about getting back together. We talked about everything else. Her new house, my new house. The new city we lived in. Work. Money. Friends. But we never discussed getting back together. I would lie in my bed at night some times and feel so overwhelmed with sadness and with longing and maybe cry a little. I would call her sometimes and she wouldn’t answer. Then she would call and I wouldn’t answer. This went on for about a year. Back and forth, each of us staking claim to our boundaries. A little more each day.