I sat down to write this post and just burst into tears.
It’s partly because I don’t know how to express the depth of awful feelings I’m holding, because I shut myself off from it. It feels like it’s too much, so that I have no idea where to start. It’s also because of relief: I can finally release them – not that I’ve held myself back before, but over the last week, it’s been ripping at a wall inside my mind, and I’m crying because I’m letting myself talk about it.
There was this time in Thailand where I was kind of scared because it was late, my dad and stepmother had gone out and I was in a village on my own with people I didn’t know very well. S – my ex-boyfriend – stayed on the phone with me for 2 hours. He was there, all throughout it, listening to me get slightly hysterical. That was before we properly went out, but it was a possibility then; it was before he cheated on me, and the one thing that has emained constant is that I don’t blame him for anything. He was always there and the thing that kills me is that I felt like I took him for granted, took it all for granted, and now that I don’t have it any more I’m realising how incredibly happy I was. Despite my stress at the beginning of the school year, despite my paranoia, I was happy.
All of the late night conversations are replaying in my mind: the laughter, the way he understood me, and it’s making my tears fall faster than they have in a while. There were just little things: me jokingly referring to myself as his “bitch”, the way he spoke, the knowledge that we’d still be there despite anything, his reassurances that Pansy was a good friend of his and that was it – which was true up until the day we broke up. I remember our first kiss – I suppose the pain made it come to the forefront of my mind. God, that was well over a year ago.
After I bailed on him, back in October of last year, I’d contacted him and he (rightly) hadn’t had the best response because I broke stuff off with no explanation. Then, we started speaking again and it was beautiful because I could confide in him, and he’s known me for so long that it didn’t feel forced. That simple reality – that I’ve lost that, too, though god knows if he meant for it to be lost or not – makes me remember how it was after Ash and I broke friends. I hate losing people; I hate having my trust destroyed, and I also hate not being able to blame anything. I don’t want him to feel guilty, because if he felt what I was feeling now he wouldn’t be able to be happy with Pansy and that would be awful.
In the summer, it seemed so lovely, and it was. After a year of me being a dick, I’d finally come to my senses – because he’d been there, through so much, supporting me as I did him. But like with every fairytale, this one shattered, sooner than I thought. But it’s fucking over and yes, I’m sobbing, so that I can barely breathe, but what’s the point in hoping?
The thing is, I regret none of it. I’m cherishing the good memories we had, locking them away and holding them close, not revealing what exactly happened as I did with Ash. I learned my lesson there, but still, the sharp and raw sting of rejection of worn out promises burns.
At the heart of it, I miss what we had. I don’t care when people say that one day it’ll stop hurting, because that day is not today and I want to feel this utter misery for now, because it reminds me I’m human and I’m able to deal with it. Everything has accumulated itself: I heard a song earlier that we both love, and saw his name on Facebook, and saw her name too and it just killed. Because right now, I guarantee, they are laughing with each other, or will have today. Me? I’m crying. How stupid is that?
I feel wounded, is the best description for it, because they have forgotten. For good reason: I wanted them to; they should be happy, and not worry about me because I’m a bitter little snowflake. Nobody should have to deal with my tears, the pathetic ones I cry in the dark, because I’m becoming furious with my own mind. In the end, who cares? There are much more important things to deal with, and I’ll just exist until it all passes, until I can love without wanting to die.
It is just not fucking fair. All of it. The fact that I got cheated on, that I’m so unhappy, that I’m unmotivated. The fact that it was so nice before, that I felt secure because he’s a wonderful person, whereas now I’m a wreck in a storm with an ocean that could break me into tiny pieces. Whenever I feel sad, I feel guilty and even worse because of it, because I remember our conversation when he told me they were officially together, nearly 2 weeks ago. Ever since then, I’ve been disgustingly clingy, feeling terrible when I both don’t receive replies from people and don’t reply to them myself.
I sounded so awful. He seemed exasperated, but perhaps that was my mind recreating emotions that weren’t there. I have a habit of doing that. I told him that my thoughts were “irritating”, because if I’d told him the truth – which I then did – I would cry for hours – which I then did. Come to think of it, I think that everyone is irritated with me. Either that or they’ve had enough, as I’ve had enough with myself. My pain’s getting old, and I don’t want people to have time for me because they need to move on with their lives.
I dislike myself, and you may be asking “What’s there to dislike – this isn’t your fault!” It isn’t my fault, or his or hers, because life happens and someone was going to get hurt anyway: better me than her and I still stand by that. As with everything, I’ve somehow convinced myself that I’m not good enough in the slightest. I feel worthless, so much less than second best; if he liked me so much, then why did he cheat on me, and so that means that he didn’t like me much after all. That, coupled with the memories and together with my general feeling that people shouldn’t bother with me as all I’ll do is become possessive and sad, has grown into a terrifying blend of shit.
What’s holding me together? I don’t know. If he talks to me about my emotions again, it’ll probably make him feel bad or tired or guilty, and I don’t want that. I hope he uses the logic of his own mental well-being as to why he realistically shouldn’t talk to me because I care about him and I don’t want to ruin anything. But I hate things coming to an end, knowing that there’s nothing I can do.
I’m hurt. I’m so damn hurt and the worst thing is that this will happen over and over, to me and to everyone else. That brings me back: what makes me so special? What makes me worthy of any attention besides the average? Nothing because I’m just one broken girl in a sky of millions.
Breakdowns are going to happen to me for a long while, but the likelihood is I won’t advertise them. If I pretend to be okay, maybe I will be; if I tell myself that people are tired of my shit, perhaps that’ll make me stop feeling like this. I can’t, though. I have no energy.
I miss him, and I miss Pansy. I want to know how they are, but at the same time I want to scream and tear at myself, to cry but to not worry anybody. However, the sheer fact that I’m posting this shows me that I want people to notice, which is so screwed up.
This is the most disjointed thing I’ve written; I’m sorry for the nonsensical ramblings. I’m extremely done with myself, so drained, and all I want is for me to care about me. I know that a lot of you care about me, which is one of the things that helps.
No more hoping, or wishing, or thinking “What if…?” Because the what ifs are smashed and the hopes burned and the wishes were all wasted on a star that is no longer in my galaxy.
From Elm 🙂