On Relapses.

Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit.

I'd like to blame the tequila. Or him.

Ok, maybe I can, to some extent. But mostly, it's my fault. Could have gone home, could have stayed with a friend, could have slept on the couch. But I didn't, I couldn't. But at the end of the day, all signs seem to be pointing to "lady, you knew better and have not a soul to blame but yourself."

But I miss him. I miss everything about him, from the way he smells to the way he sleeps. It had been a month. A month since I even touched his hand, and I still found it as natural as breathing. I'm not gonna lie, since it's pretty damn obvious anyway. Being without him has created a void in me that nothing else can fill as yet, and believe me, I've tried. But it had to be him. I wish I didn't have to work this morning. I wish I could have held on a little longer. I wish I could keep him.

As with any relapse, it puts me right back at square one. I went back and got my fix, and am now feeling the effects of withdrawal as strongly as ever before. Truth be told, though, I don't feel like I ever left square one, and this slip-up was a reminder that maybe I wasn't so crazy to still be feeling so fucking sad.

I know that this happens to people every day. I know people go through worse, and survive. All of this I know, on some level, but I don't feel it, not even a little. And you, courageous readers, are stuck with my depressing babble. I am sorry.

Maybe we could blame the tequila, just a little?