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Being in love is downright painful.

I never knew that I was capable to feel this ever. I thought these feelings and emotions were things made up only for the movies and books that exist to make people dream of fantastic things. Nobody could really be this ridiculously head-over-heels in love and invested in one other singular being in the world.

But here I am. Feeling it more than ever having broken up with that one other singular being. And it is a loss and hurt that is unparalleled in my entire life, comparable maybe to losing my grandma to cancer, but still surely something entirely different. I never realized how much I did sweat over losing friendships left and right and cared about all the wrong people until this point. He was my world and I lost my world.

I miss him so much. I think I always will. I’ve lost the love in my life and potentially the one person that could stomach loving me despite my faults, weirdness, and mood swings. I just want him back, another chance. I don’t deserve it but I really can’t imagine a life without him in it. This crazy emotional dependency that had used to scare me so much before, why I wouldn’t open up and let him in completely, is the same crazy emotional dependency that has convinced me that I need to try all I could do because only with him could I be that happy. And I know it’s not an immature, baseless love — I love him enough to let him go, regardless of how painful that would be for me for the rest of my life. I will always want what’s best for him and I’m mature enough to realize that might not include me in the plan, god knows I just pray for the strength to believe that I’ll be okay after and the strength to be content with the idea that simply having known him, I’ve changed for the better.

I write this after having left him a letter, flowers and some cookies at his doorstep. He lives in a building, the same building I had just moved out of after two and a half years a month prior to him moving in so I am no stranger to the place. Attached to the letter were movie tickets to Transformers. I basically asked him out to a boring movie date I guess, and for another chance. I’m complete nerves over what I just did. I couldn’t sleep last night and there is nothing more I want than to just run away, not hear anymore what he’d have to say, potentially face rejection, lose him entirely in fears that by doing just this, I’ve pushed him too far away. I left them at his doorstep, ran up to the rooftop, lit a cigarette, crying, struggling to breathe. There was an immediacy to tell him and get it over with like ripping off a bandaid while simultaneously wanting to throw my phone into the pool and throw myself off the 28th floor and straight into concrete. Ring, ring, ring, he’s not gonna pick up, ring, ring, somebody’s over at his place, ring, ring. He picked up, I had just missed him and he was on his way to a meeting, maybe just having left 2 minutes earlier. A lump arose in my throat and I admitted that I called to say I left a few things at his door and that it’s okay, really should’ve called before I did those things. Put down the phone and he messaged conferring feelings of uneasiness, why would I do this at 8am in the morning and fears that maybe I was staying back in my old apartment. No, not at all, I said, I couldn’t even if I was capable of doing so. He said he’d pick them up before work. I felt like dying.

I hadn’t gotten much sleep since laying in bed last night and deciding to do these things in the morning. Maybe 2-3 hours, segmented in blocks of 15 and half hours. Absolutely none since 4 am anyway. It’s 9:26 am now and I wait for my mom at our cafe. We’re supposed to have breakfast. I haven’t been eating properly but credit to myself having managed to despite the nagging chest pains from mini anxiety attacks and fits of crying and an almost constant lump in my throat just thinking I’ll never be happy again. I eat enough to coat my stomach and not have to deal with hunger pangs, not that they happen often but they’re there. I sleep enough or maybe too much, I’ve managed to shower every day regardless of feeling so completely tired, I get out of bed despite the immense difficulty I encounter doing so. I could just stay in bed for months, that’s no understatement. But I can’t go back to that, and he has given me hope and placed in me whatever fight I have in me to be a better person. I gave away the bottles in my closet, threw out the wine, scheduled an appointment with a new psychiatrist and braved a conversation with Stella, my previous one, and moved on from the recurred feelings that she never wanted to help me anyway. I’m mature enough to know that I need help getting my shit together and that by myself, I’ve been getting nowhere.

I only hope that I feel safe and strong again. I’ve never felt more weak. It was with him by my side I felt safest and closest to home. I am really hurting at the thought I’ve lost that forever. I’ll always be sorry and I’ll always love him. I fear that I don’t deserve him and that I’m completely bad for him. I’ll probably carry these feelings with me for the rest of my life. And I guess I’ll muster the strength and courage to be okay with it, realizing that just having known him and to have had him even just for the time I did, my life had been blessed with the kind of love that was found only in the movies and books that exist to make people dream of fantastic things.


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