Is dehydration going to be a problem if you just can't stop crying?

Insomniac's raging and venting about the third break this year in her turbulent relationship. Like the symphathetic and supportive girlfriend that I am, I agreed with everything she said.

"Yes, men are scum. Yes, you're right, he's an inconsiderate bastard. Yes, indeed, he needs to get a real life. Yes, true, he must realise he has to get off his bum and do something. No, you don't say. Why, the lout. Yes, you're right, you do have family to consider. Yes, you're right to demand a break. He won't let you go, though? Oh, how frustrating. Who does he think he is? How controlling. Yes, it's not fair, definitely, not when you're so obliging to him in many, many ways. Oh, men are scum. Yes, indeed, they are."

Then I asked her, "Are you sure it's the right thing to do? I know you don't want to be tied down and all that anymore, but have you realise that it'll take a lot out of you? Nothing will ever be the same again. You can't expect normality with him anymore. You can't sit down and laugh and talk like before."

She paused a little. "I'd rather it this way than make myself miserable all the time being with him."

"I told him once ...I'd rather be miserable with you, than be miserable without you. Sometimes, I still believe that to be true .. for me."

"I used to think that. But I'm really worn out now. It's like how old rubbers get worn out when the surface is too rough. You keep shouting at your dog to get it moving, but after a while you just give up."

"Yeah, no point shouting at the deaf, I suppose."

I don't see him anymore. He has never written anything, so in effect, everything is dead. We have closed up shop and melted away. I suppose I should expect it. I was pretty harsh when I last spoke to him.

"You are important to me. But if you're going to make excuses and in the end, make me think and realise that I'm not important to you, well then, there is only one option isn't it? There is only so much that I can give."

It aches, of course. Sometimes I cry short frustrated self-pitying tears. Sometimes I rage silently and write hurtful unsent letters. Sometimes I mourn for what it was and for what could have been. But sometimes I smile to the sun and remember sweetly. Sometimes I send loving thoughts. Sometimes I hold him close and then reluctantly, let him go to do as he will. All through that, it aches.

But life goes on, doesn't it? Life always goes on. Everything falls apart, but life always goes on.

"Romance department?! Hahaha. To be honest, Pamie? Right now, I seriously cannot be bothered doing anything about it."

My heart isn't in it.