An Exercise in Euphoria

"Illusion is the first of all pleasures."

Every day, save the day directly after, since the break up has been an exercise in euphoria. I spent a good deal of time alone the first week, packing the apartment, coping, working as much as possible, smoking a lot of weed and drinking alone. Then something broke. A wall came down and suddenly I am in a different Los Angeles. This is now a city that belongs to me. I own it and I control it. I get to say what I want to do with my time and who I want to be with. I want to see my friends. I want to be around people that I can call family. Freedom and complete abandonment has washed over me. I see flowers everywhere I walk and the trees seem greener, stronger and more beautiful than ever before. No more repression; no more oppression; no more jealousy; no more hiding; no more lying. This feeling is what I’ve been searching for my whole life. I feel complete. If my heart broke, it broke open and is now available for the world to see. I’m more creative than I have ever been before.

This is my apartment now. I know I have only a short time left here, but this empty space is the only thing I can call my own for now. I haven’t found a new apartment yet, and to be honest, it doesn’t seem all that important. Everything, in time, will present itself when necessary. For now, I’m living the life I’ve been wanting to live for so long—the life I traded my boyfriend and my security for. Nothing has ever felt so right. I’ve cleared everything out. My trunk, my dining table and 6 chairs—purchased to have dinner parties I was never allowed to have, my dishes, glassware, all the extra sheets for the bed that left with Mike, the entertainment center, everything we had together has been sold or donated. Gone to eager Craigslisters starting their lives in LA. I even found someone to rent this place, a charming girl that not only took my apartment, but she’s also keeping my couches and offered me a job at her restaurant. Everything in its right place.

Travis came over the other night. I had some cleaning to do so I had to stay in. He came by to keep me company. We were listening to Sam Cooke and Bobby Womack and other greats—dancing around my empty living room. I giggled with joy as I twisted my little heart out. We danced so much I broke into a sweat. “You Send Me” came on the shuffle. Travis grabbed my hands and suddenly I was in the arms of the boy that changed my world so completely that I gave up everything.  He rested his head on my shoulder and I put mine on his. I realized I’d never danced with anyone so close to my height. I’ve always been with tall men; all of my boyfriends have been 6 feet and taller. Shorter men have always been unappealing to me. But in that moment, I felt his breath on my neck, and I’d never felt anything like it before. So comfortable. So sexy. I melted. I finally was enjoying myself, tapping into something I wasn’t allowed to feel for so long. I gave in. His massive eyes looked right at me and he kissed me. This moment was bound to come, building up since last fall. As he kissed me, the words, “this has nothing to do with Travis” blazed through my memory, like a falling star that you only see for a moment and then it’s gone. Maybe you weren’t sure you saw it at all. I could’ve succumbed to sadness; but it wouldn’t have been true. I didn’t really feel sad. I felt great. We stood in what used to be my dining room, the room where Mike and I broke up, holding each other and kissing.

We spent the night on my living room floor. We made a makeshift bed out of pillows, comforters and sheets. And in the morning, Travis was like a child waking up to Christmas morning. I felt happy. I felt warm. I felt loved. I felt guilty. I felt like getting stoned.  I lazily stood up and stretched. I packed my pipe. With the ease of someone that hasn’t a care in the world, I looked at Travis and said, “Let’s go to the beach.”