Call

He called me this evening. He's only seven miles away, but it feels like a million. He sounds down, and I don't know what to say, because I have no idea why. And I wonder if I sound down, because I am. But I know why.

Because I'm being eaten alive by jealousy and self-doubt and self-hatred and loneliness and ennui.

I've watched too many movies this weekend, and they are making me cry, because I want the happy ending too, and I'm never gonna get it. Does everybody else live with this and just deal better than I do? It seems impossible.

I couldn't talk to him. I answered in single syllables, becoming the grunting oaf I always believed I was anyway. But he didn't really seem that excited to talk to me, even though he dialed the numbers. I felt like he was calling out of obligation. Maybe he wasn't. But his voice was thin and tired and blase.

Is it me?
I whine that no one understands me, and I don't even understand myself.

Why do I put myself through this torture?
Why did I ever fall in love?