2/12/2017-10/12/2017

2/12/2017

The festive season officially began yesterday. There is nothing to be festive about. Oh…well I suppose I have his birthday to look forward to. If he even stays to celebrate. He is home today, so am I. We exist in the same place, somewhat somber, but not in conflict. That’s good. He offered to cook something for dinner. No reason to refuse, I look forward to what he’ll make. I sense that there is an attempt at closeness being made, but I’m sad to admit that I have no faith in him. Closeness for a day, or two, or a week, or two. And then what? And then I have to be okay when that stops. Fine, I can be okay about it, but I feel as if something dies within me every time. I will refrain from writing in this diary unless something important happens. Writing here makes me feel pathetic. Watching the way my feelings and thoughts flip and switch, the way I see a version of me that I don’t like. I don’t know. Ah, that’s right. Out of courtesy, I asked him if he wanted to go for a holiday somewhere warmer when finals are over. I already knew the answer before I asked. He said that would be difficult. I said I understood. And I do. But I want to go to the Maldives, so there’s that.

10/12/2017

I said I would only write here when something important happens, but I went to the boutique from before again. The little one at the mall. Louis—the owner—called me in because they had a new outfit they really wanted me to try. I’ll admit, I really didn’t want to go. I’ve been feeling immense lethargy as of late. Pulling myself out of bed to go to the gym, or to go to the book club is a Herculean task. Even watering my flowers has become difficult. I didn’t leave the bed yesterday, save to go take a piss and have a smoke. Didn’t even bother getting up to eat. He brought me food a little after noon. A toasted roasted chicken and sun dried tomato sandwich with some soup. It was good. Because he brought it to me, I ate it. I think I made a joke that he should cook more often since his food tastes good. He did that little half smile of his, then said he will if that’s what I want. Either way, I went to Louis, and that is the reason I am writing here now. They showed me the most gorgeous dress I’d ever seen. I don’t know why, but seeing it, marveling at the embroidery on luscious teal fabric, the high neck, the dramatically long cape sleeves, a monarch unto itself. I do not know why, but my eyes stung, seeing this gown. The last thing I want to be known to be is emotionally fraught, and that is exactly what I would be if I burst into tears at the sight of a dress. But when Louis said that I am this dress, I had to excuse myself. Had to flee to the washroom and strangle my tears while sitting on the toilet. I did not realize just how lost I have felt. The toll of “doing what I have to do” so that we could live properly. It had to be done, but in the process I may have lost sight of myself.

I told Louis that I would take that dress, and I would wear it at the next event I would attend. They were concerned for me. I go from wearing suits and presenting as a businessman, to wearing flowing gowns. In hindsight, I see why they would worry. I myself want to worry about it. I feel like I must, but I simply do not. So I told them that they did not need to either.

They said it themselves. That dress is me. Who else is to wear it?

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