I woke up to sad text messages this morning, 2:30 and I’m awake anyway so I may as well quit torturing the sleeping dog next to me, who sighs audibly every time I toss and turn again.

It’s dark outside, cold… and snowing lightly. I sit on a chair in the kitchen and look around at this big empty house… and dive into the new version of my daily pity party. I hate my life. I hate this day. I hate the reality of waking up with this feeling again. I’m rock bottom miserable… with friends everywhere trying to pull me out of it.

I am so blessed. My sister picked me up from the airport, a broken mess where she’d left a beauty queen just 4 days earlier. She was holding a puffy down jacket and smiling at me… then held me while I sobbed in the terminal.

K- Put this on, you’re cold. I have boots for you in the car, let’s go get your bag.

Reduced by devastation to the point of needing to be led around. In shock. Having had some sort of disastrous train hit my perfect relationship in the middle of the night. Not even knowing what to say. Confused and destroyed. Charming.

I fell asleep on the way home and my sister tucked me in while I cried, telling me to take off his tshirt because I was intentionally torturing myself. I’ve never felt so lost in my life. My body wont stop shaking, I can’t sleep and I miss him so much I can’t breathe without crying. I’m a strong woman, yes… but I’ve been destroyed by this.

I got in the car finally today. I drove out to Walmart to put the rest of our vacation pictures on a disk. It’s hard to even look at and I don’t preview them. I hit the photo cd option and turned my iPod back on. I can’t carry on a conversation with anyone right now and I always run into people I know at this damn evil store. Cd in hand, I’m out the door in record speed and flying home as fast as I can without risking a ticket.

The sanctuary that is my bed. I’ve tried to knit a little but I can’t. I skip stitches, I purl when I should knit. I’m lost in regret and spectacular memories. I’m quite a bit worthless, and I’m the server that will definitely forget something you ask for. I’m a liability- and they’ve all worked hard to cover shifts for me so I can pull my shit together.

I haven’t been ready to face the grocery store, so I’m eating airplane peanuts and drinking a glass of water every 20 minutes. I’m dealing in my own fucked up way- how’s that?

Peeling the plastic off a new pack of cigarettes is right up there with masturbation. I’m a crying, shaking, miserable mess… surely that qualifies me for a tumble off the non-smoking wagon? Yes. It does. The first drag of minty hot smoke hitting my lungs makes my head spin. Whoa. I close my eyes and fight back the tears stuck in my throat. I run through a list of options to comfort the vessel I’m carrying this broken heart around in. A hot shower, lotion on my poor sad feet… lip gloss and some perfume. Trying my best to feel better…. then catching sight of my running shoes as I walk out in my towel.

Slipping into my yoga pants, a few layers of Capilene and a hat and gloves. My iPod fully charged with music we listened to on our trip together- all the better to torture myself with. Pulling the laces tight feels comforting. Running is a vice I should encourage.

It’s cold outside, with icy rain/snow mix falling. A little slick, but I’m indifferent to it. I feel like hell and this will at least make my body match my soul. The first mile is grueling. I’m not hot yet, so the icy slush hitting the back of my legs stings. The cigarette I loved so much is tearing it’s way through my lungs and I’m instantly regretful.

I’m enjoying the masochistic self infliction of pain in a healthy way. Those kids who are cutters should try running- it’s damn addictive when you’re unhappy and the results are all good.

I lost 8 pounds on vacation, I’ve lost another 11 since I got home. My skinny jeans zip up easily, straight out of the dryer. my body is on it’s way back into great shape. Misery is the best diet plan, if you ask me…. and running does amazing things to my ass.

Three miles in I hit the zone. The same as the click-clack of my heels, the sound of my shoes in the slush lulls me into a routine foggy pattern. I can think about everything. I can listen to my music… or I can just close my eyes momentarily and enjoy the burning in my thighs and the ache in my lungs urging me to stop smoking for good.

Six miles later I’m still hell bent on physical destruction and I have hours before I have to work. I’m finally breathing evenly. I’m finally breathing.

I’m finally forgiving myself. He’s pissed- ok. I’m pissed too. I’ve been doing everything I can to get to the bottom of everything and apologize and I’ve been as noble as I can be about it. Drug test and a rape kit- yeah that’s a fun way to come home from paradise with the man you love hating you. Awesome…. and I continue to beat myself up about it? No.

We were both victims in this nightmare and I’m tired of feeling like hell. I love him. It was amazing. We had the best time ever and I loved nearly every moment. We were both devastated by this and it’s a huge waste if we let it get in the way. This is real love like you can’t even fathom until you feel it yourself. Giggly sweet perfection with a side of late night delicious. The build up wasn’t let down by the reality. He’s the perfect man for me, and vice versa. He’s a control freak in the worst way and he’s not very pleasant when he’s been drinking. We all have our details- and those are his. I’m insecure and suspicious- I’m no picnic…

But the love we have was out of this world and I refuse to be sad about it anymore. I know what it is to really love a man and be loved back. I know what it’s like to want to pull the man I love off the beaten path in the rainforest and satisfy the constant hunger he inspires. That fine line between pain and pleasure? The comfort of being protected by a man willing to do anything for you. I knew what that was. It might have only been for a few days, but it’s like watching the birth of your children. It changes you forever. You’re forever ruined for less than.

With each footstep I find myself. I love him. I always will. He can blame me forever and we will both have to deal with the consequences of that- but I’m going to keep on running, and keep on loving him. I’ve done everything I could do and if it’s not enough, it’s not enough and it wasn’t what we thought it was.

Running back to what I know, and what I can do.

Running home, instead of away.