A Post Card from Brooklyn: Quarantined

i just realized i have been staring out the window for almost an hour. ways across, maybe it is the next street there is an open window with a massive hole in the meshy thingy. it looks like it started as a tiny hole, but the years have been unkind, and it has gotten larger and larger.

a bit like my life i think. a lack of knowing my worth, not loving myself enough. believing the things people have said about me or how they have treated me. and the lack of setting boundaries has made this big ole hole in my life that just seems to be getting bigger and bigger like that old window screen.

this quarantined life has given me time to think. way too much time i cannot seem to turn my mind off. it keeps going and going like that energizer bunny from the Duracell battery Commercial. it is like i have a permanent throb on the left side of my brain. and i am hungry, way too hungry to think, yet I think i am thinking.

i am noticing the flaws, the imperfections, the parts i hate, and the parts i would like to forget or throw away. every day i am haunted by my own life. the way i thought things would be, the things i neglected to say or do. the things and people that have neglected me, and the way i have settled.

how did i get here—i can not remember the details. i have not eaten in days; i forgot how many days it has been. three or maybe five. the teas have curbed my appetite, and most days i drifted off to restless sleep, not feeling the pains of hunger. but there is no more. and drinking hot water does not give me the same luxury. my belly is burning. i took my time rationing the food he bought me maybe a month ago. but i knew it would not last forever. i swear i rationed—i did not overeat.

here i am in this dark room with no job, no prospect of money and no food. i am alone, yet i am not alone. i have a family, but i do not want my mother to worry about me, or maybe it is my pride. i am not sure. i cannot think straight; my thoughts are plenty.

the he i referred to, is my boyfriend. or is he, was he ever? i believed we were close, but we are further apart than i ever thought we were. i thought he cared, but then again, how could he? if i did not. we fought but not a fight. i believe he made statements. it is hard to isolate a specific memory, that particular memory.

it was about me not telling him that some of my mail was being sent to a different address. someone saw me picking up my mail and told him. it wasn’t a secret; it was a necessity. i never got around to telling him—it has been over a year. he did not bring it up for a discussion or a fight. it was “now i know you did this horrible thing, so screw you.” the details are not that clear.

he has not called or texted, i have called and called, but he never answered. maybe he sending a message—perhaps he is punishing me, but i am no child. i should have told him, but i never did. i’m not sure why but i never did.

ahhhhh, it hurts thinking hurts. not his actions, i believe i am numb to that. i have made myself numb. seven years, being with someone who knows my situation but has purposely left me without. it feels like a punishment; it makes me sad. i am numb, but i am sad. but i know—i now understand, if i did not before i now do.

the rules are different for him, there was so much not told, so much he never said, so much he has never admitted to in the face of the truth. yet i have tried to be worthy of his love and care, even on the days he made me feel like i was not enough. why am i not enough, why am i not worthy of love, why am i hungry. i feel faint!