I can’t do this much longer.

In fact, I can’t do this at all.

I have almost set up my life such that I can leave. Almost untangled myself from her. Now, we must practice the distance, practice the separation.

I cannot keep seeing her every day. Keep sleeping next to her. Last night I resolved I would go home and not stay with her, but we talked and talked until it was 11:30 and I was nearly asleep anyway and I didn’t have the energy to fight to get myself home. Half an hour away.

I like my apartment. I like being there, alone. But the impulse to call her, go to her, is strong and habitual. I’m not sure how to curb it.

Meanwhile, she acts as though nothing is wrong, going through the motions of daily life, wake up feed the cats take a shower get dressed. I want to scream. At her, at myself. What are we doing? Why do our lives hang in the balance like this? Why am I allowing it?

I need out, I need out, I need out. My body is screaming silent.

I am going on a trip to visit a friend in October and the girlfriend doesn’t know. I am assisting at a sensuality & spirituality retreat the weekend after and the girlfriend knows it isn’t about her. I want to be promiscuous for a while. I want to go out on the town and get drunk and make out with the prettiest girl in the room. I am making plans and looking at the next few weeks as if she wouldn’t be there, but that’s not what is happening.

And here I am, having to change things all over again. Didn’t I do this already? Isn’t this supposed to be over by now?

I have no idea how to tell her. At least before I had an excuse - I had complaints, I had unmet needs. Now, I just have her, crying on the couch, saying I’m trying so hard and I love you, I love you, that’s enough and whatever you need, I’ll do it and I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know how to say no, how to say I need time and space to be on my own, how to put up boundaries and walls. I don’t know how to walk away from her.

She’s a habit I can’t break.

If I didn’t have to see her, if I didn’t have to talk to her, perhaps I would be okay. But I’ve always seen that kind of breakup as extraordinarily and unnecessarily cruel; I can be more grown-up than that. I can face my feelings and take responsibility for them.

I have to say something, and that’s what’s been eating me up inside, that’s why my brain has been in turmoil, that’s why I can’t eat or sleep or concentrate.

I have something to say. I’m a fucken writer, you’d think I could find the words. But I’m just so beat-down about this entire break-up and I can’t can’t can’t seem to find the North Star for direction.