Grief surprises you in waves. Sometimes there’s nothing to feel and other times bedridden. I’m not moving on, I am moving through. This process takes time. Be patient, be strong, be weak, and never be ashamed for feeling what you feel no matter how long it has been.
Even after months have gone by, there are still memories that I replay. Things we used to watch, inside jokes, that song you loved. I’ll laugh alone and feel like you are in the same room with me. I’ll listen to that song you showed me over and over and think of you stopping our conversation to sing the lyrics. I know that it was true. That what I felt was real, but I still don’t understand your convolution of feelings. Sometimes I diagnose you with personality disorders. It is easier to put you into a category when I feel angry at how much you lied and led me on a trail of bread crumbs to a goddamn nuclear wipe out. But you are much more complex than a narcissist. I think you do care how fucking lost and tangled up you are, but lack skill in climbing out of the holes that you’ve dug.
I think about all the other people who have taken up space in your heart. All those who have passed through you and haven’t stuck. And those that are cemented in. I hope that I will not be forgotten, but I know that you are trying to. Out of sight, out of mind they say, but I know we still haunt each other.
I think that out of everyone, you’ve hurt me the worst . This wound is gaping and it still fucking bleeds. Not everyday, no. I do forget. But I am often reminded. It is fucking ridiculous how much I feel. This hangover of grief that still lingers in my spirit. And it feels unfair because I know you are not going through this. I know that you’re better at turning it all off and burying yourself in distractions.
I don’t know what it is like to be you. What it must be like to lose yourself. To lose some one you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with. To need some one, but they cannot be reached.
Actually, I do know a bit about what that is like. You’ve passed that pain and loss onto me. A burden you had no right to give me, but I happily accepted because I would have done anything for you. I would have died for you. And it sounds fucking dramatic, but I am profoundly amazed at how in love I was. Our connection. It was stunning.
I hate the way you treated me, how dishonest you were about the situation, and how you fucking destroyed my heart. It’s never going to be the same. And I hate the way I’m still grieving. I hate the way I don’t trust anyone anymore. I hate the way I’m scared of losing my power again. Of being abandoned.
I have dreams about you sometimes. I fucking hate dreaming about you by the way.
I have so much love for you, I just don’t know where to put it anymore. I miss you so fucking much, but you have lost any sort of privilege to be in my life. The moment you stopped valuing me, the moment you allowed your demons to sink me to the bottom while you stepped on my head for a breath of air is when you lost your right to be in my life. You are home to me, but you are also a flesh-eating disease.
I just hope that you figure it out. That you grow from this and blossom into a person who is healthy, happy, and open. You always said that you just wanted me to be happy and I was so happy with you. All I’ve ever wanted is you. But it is you who needs to figure out how to be happy. I am fine as I am. I don’t need you, but it would have been nice to take on the world with you.