We run in circles (continued)

There was always something about the quiet space of an empty car that comforted me. Sitting beside myself with the engine idling, its gentle and consistent thrum soothing the flurry of anxious shadows that would mire my thoughts. Even now, parked on the side of the road with my hazard lights blinking and traffic roaring past me- It was like my own little slice of nirvana. I nervously tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and jittered my legs below, attempting to drown the pit in my stomach with a barrage of physical stimulation. 

To think that I once considered myself better than those who would intentionally reduce themselves to mere objects of pleasure- to find solace in it. I was an idiot- hypocritical and judgmental. How the hell did I even find myself in such a compromised position? I'd like to tell myself that it just... happened- that it was a consequence of going with the flow and adopting a near perfect apathetic existence... But that's a lie. A blatant one.

The truth is that I'm weak. The truth is that I'm a coward. I'd rather wear the skin of a man-whore than my own face, among those who have yet to see me at my worst. That I'd rather sleep with emotionally vulnerable acquaintances than bare thinking about the woman who hurt me for more than a minute. I don't want this anymore. I don't want to think about anything, anymore. I'm so sick of lovesickness that nausea seems to have made a permanent home in me. I wish cutting such a cancer from me was as easy as taking off an old dirty coat... But human complexity just has to be so damn complicated.

The static only grew louder in my head as my knees continued to bounce with nervous energy. I peeled my eyes away from the red glow of the passing taillights and instead decided to flick the radio on and close my eyes. Hashed words and dissonant, clashing music faded in and out with the poor connection- Perfect for pulling me out of my own head.

I ran my fingers through my hair as I took a deep breath. Only thirty minutes ago, I was nude in bed with her. Only thirty minutes ago, I had managed to forget the one I had truly loved. But now- now it had all come rushing back with renewed weight, crushing me in its thick haze. Why do we run from the things we do? It wasn't that poor girls fault that I was broken over another. Why should she have to see this?

She doesn't.

That's why I'm here alone in the car, and she's drinking her morning coffee alone.

I think I would have liked to drink coffee with her. To stay and allow myself to settle into the moment. To allow myself to feel no matter the consequence... But I'm running on instinct here, and instinct is telling me to get the fuck out before I find myself in another love hole... So I ran.

I run only because I feel I have to. A part of me commands it. Fear. Guilt. Shame. At a glance, it may look like I'm making a list, but upon closer inspection you'll find its the same belligerent thug that thrashes my inner monologue- wearing a cheap disguise every time he comes around.

The same primal voice, only pretending to be different emotions. 

I wish I could let go of such feelings. To be free of them. Maybe then, I could stop being so ashamed of who I'm not, and finally start accepting who I am. For now though, I think I'll have to settle with pretending I'm some kind of emotionally unavailable slice of meat that enjoys the smell of drunk sex and dirty mattresses.

I hate it though. I make myself sick