Up Sick Alone Letter

Patrick,

4:55am. I've been up sick. I think I'm being punished for having sex... not that I have Puritan guilt, just the healthy, societal shame that someone's expected to have when they invite their ex to come over and stay the night because they can't have who they really want.

As soon as Mike finished, ah, here comes the burning. Damn UTI. I sat in a warm bath for a while, half muttering and crying because it wasn't getting better. Mike came in and touched my back and asked if he could help before I got into the tub, but I was in a pathetic little mewling pain, and I grumbled him off of me- so he went back to bed. I found two azo pills in the cupboard after the water didn't help- sometimes it does- and sat on my knees in the living room and downed them.

I'm feeling a little better now- actually quite better, but the emotions of being up and sick are getting to me. I could wake Mike up and have him sit with me, but a part of me blames him for the burning in the first place. And yeah, yeah, I know it takes two people to get that going... but I'm not feeling entirely rational right now. Another part wanted him to stay up with me even though I more or less told him he couldn't help.

I don't know why a quick romp would cause the irritation to flare up so badly. I did everything I was supposed to- bathroom trips before and after, and a Vitamin C pill to inundate the bladder with acidity. Like I said... I think I'm being punished. Can't say I entirely blame the universe. I feel... rather punishable these days. I'm sure I've done something, sometime to deserve it all- or maybe I'll do it in the future, and I'm just settling the check in advance.

I've got a twitch in my gut, and I think the sun is coming up.

I hate being up sick and alone in the night. I think it's one of the worst feelings in the world. Which is probably why I'm rolling around in it, seeping myself in the misery like a teabag. Focusing on this, well, it pales the other sorrows and 'feeling sorry for's. It's like when you smash your toe against the foot of a chair... you don't focus on your bug bites anymore.

5:44. I miss you, Patrick. And I'm angry at you. I don't want to wake Mike up, and I'm pretty sure I'm angry with him, too. ...It's definitely light out. I don't know when I'll want to go to sleep. I spent most of my day in bed today. Trust me, it hasn't been a good one. I took more Benadryl than I ever have in my life. The past few days I've just been trying to not drown in myself and my own.... nonsense, I guess.

When we talked last night, it felt like you were pushing me away. You're so good at compartmentalizing everything. Putting feelings in boxes without labels and storing them away on a shelf. Maybe that's why you keep coming back to me after all the awful, long absences- you do an inventory and, hey, here's that love I've got for Grey! Wonder where that got to. I wish I could do that, sometimes. I've never been able to put what I feel for you in a box. Even during your disappearing acts, I just... cover them up in a sort of emotional saran wrap: sort of tucked away, but everything's still visible, and very palpable. ...And not that protected. As evidenced by the very rotten tomato in my fridge: I'm not good at storing things away.

After we said goodnight, I cried myself to sleep. I'm getting sick of it. Every once and a while, a good, cleansing cry-thine-self-to-sleep is therapeutic. When it happens a few times in a row, it's just... draining. And besides... you fall asleep wet.

Bright as day now, but it still feels like night to me.

~Grey
Sweetgrey Sweetgrey
22-25
Jul 20, 2010