-Losing myself one day at a time, picking up the pieces as I go. Welcome to my mind-
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I hate how you made me feel and I hope you take that feeling to your grave
In all honesty, I really thought this last week or so has been a huge turning point in moving past this stupid breakup. I obviously had some more time for reflection and it kind of hit me out of nowhere that maybe my own subconscious was telling me that it wasn't something that was meant to last. Earlier this year, about a year into the relationship, a friend of mine had asked me about my ex: if he asked me to marry him right now, would I say yes?
I'm just tired
Did you know that when your biggest fears are actually feasible, there's a higher chance of them coming true? Mine has become more and more of a reality as I've gotten older, which naturally just scares me even more. I'm terrified of dying alone. Not like physically alone, but alone in life. No family, no friends, no circle of loved ones with me in my old age.
Do you ever think about what could have been? I used to think about it all. the. time. Especially before I found my person and before I stopped thinking that I'd be the true definition of forever alone, definitely comparing myself to every old, single, never-married person I encountered along the way.
To the one who turned my world upside down: I've often thought I'm too understanding, too much of a pushover if you will. But more often than not it's simply a fleeting thought, one that disappears right after I decide that it's better to be understanding and sorry for it later than not understanding enough and sorry for that later. I guess I always figured I'd rather be the one who suffers because I was too "understanding" and later hurt because of it than be the reason, or another reason, someone else suffers. I guess I always figured I could handle it. I'm tough. Right? Wrong. You. Oh you. You've made me question that decision. A number of times, I might add. And yet here I am, still trying to be understanding. Still coming up with excuses for you. Because maybe one of them is true. Maybe you're not a bad guy. Maybe you mean well and I'm just misunderstanding. Maybe you didn't mean to. Maybe you're scared of losing me. Maybe if I come up with the right excuse I won't hurt over you anymore. Maybe maybe maybe. It's always a maybe with you. Never a certainty. Do you do it on purpose? Maybe. I know I have a tendency to be overdramatic. You may not know that, though. In fact, most people probably don't know that about me. I keep it to myself. I guess that's not what you'd expect of an overdramatic person. I cry at the drop of a hat for what often ends up being no good reason, certainly nothing to justify sobbing over for hours at least, and definitely nothing to warrant jumping to extreme conclusions over, but I keep it to myself. In my own room, in my own bubble, where no one can see my pain. Even if it is just fleeting or imaginary. Or self-imposed. I know without a doubt that I overthink everything. And I do mean everything. But just this one time, with you, I think maybe I'm justified in doing so. I don't think my overthinking is "overdramatic" this time. You threw me a line, a thin one, to keep me afloat. But I think that line you threw is what's drowning me now, slowly. It's wrapped around my neck, suffocating me as I tread water and try to keep my head above its surface, holding on for dear life to that one pesky little line you've thrown me. You confuse me. More than anyone I've ever met, really. I'm an understanding person, as I'm sure you're well aware by now. I give chance after chance after chance. You've had so many chances to fess up. To just be open with me. Even if all you wanted from me in the end was friendship, isn't that what friends are for? A person with whom you can be open, a person you can trust? So why can't you just be open with me? If I haven't judged you thus far, it's certainly safe to say I won't judge you for much. I get it. So maybe you're not deserving of more than one chance. Yet I'm still willing to give you another chance. One more to finally prove you were, or weren't, deserving of so many chances. I gave you months of my life. And quite honestly, I think it's fair to say you pretty much knew what you were getting into with me. I, unfortunately, did not. I'm an open book. I've done nothing significantly wrong in my life. Nothing huge was happening to me when you came into my life. Nothing huge was coming up in my life either. Nothing that would affect you as severely as this at least. Standard vanilla life if you will. But you. Oh you. You came in with baggage, and lots of it. And you weren't upfront about any of it. Even the small stuff, you sort of just threw it out there after a while, so nonchalantly as if I wouldn't notice- or god forbid care. And the big stuff? You didn't share any of it until it was too late. I was already hooked. And of course I'm understanding. You probably thought I'd get it, why you didn't tell me sooner. The worst part is, I did. Mostly. But that line you threw me? That brief little "tldr" of why you're going through what you are? It's fucking useless. At this point, fuck the feelings I have for you that go beyond friendship. I don't need those. I can move past those just like I always have. Maybe with more difficulty than usual, because you really did seem so. much. better. than anyone else who has ever shown an interest in me, but I could. And I'm sure eventually I just might. All I've ever wanted was honesty. And every single line you spewed for not divulging bag number x sooner, I was understanding of. It made sense to me. Maybe that means you are telling the truth. Or maybe I'm just really fucking dumb. But the fact of the matter is, you've withheld so much that I don't know what to believe anymore. Everything I'm finding online about what you've said is proving contradictory to the things you've told me. What aren't you telling me? Why aren't you telling me? I desperately want to believe you, mostly for my own sanity. I don't want to believe I was stupid enough to make a mistake of this proportion. I'm just having a lot of difficulty doing so now. And the fact that you pretty much sent me your goodbyes already, neatly packaged in a nice text thanking me for our time together and idly promising that you will be back one day, gives me no hope of any closure now. So thanks for that. I didn't fucking give months of my life to you for you to just leave me in the dark like this. I honestly don't know if this is better than being ghosted. At least being ghosted would give me a solid answer on something: You're done with me and it's time to move on. But this isn't ghosting. This is leaving, an actual scheduled leaving, with the promise of return. A return that has no set date, no set intentions, no set anything. Yet. And to make matters worse, you'll be the only one between us to know that return date, whenever you're able to find out. But what about me? What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Everything that's happening is happening to you. It's easy to adjust accordingly, even if it sucks. But me? I have to keep living my life. I have to maintain that sense of normalcy. And you've gone and made that already difficult task so, so much more difficult. Is this a goodbye? A see you later? Some weird in between mashup in which we expect it to be a see you later and it becomes a goodbye without the proper goodbyes? I have so many fucking questions and no clue where to begin. Not that you'd answer them anyway, probably. I guess I just wish things were different. Part of me loves you, dear. Really. But most of me, maybe even all of me, is extremely bitter toward you right now. Either way, see you on the other side, maybe?
The Couch Psychology of a Cynic
I wrote this piece over a year ago when my boyfriend and I had first started dating and I thought he had ghosted me. Turns out he hadn’t, spoiler. But it did make me realize some things I hadn’t really seriously thought about in a while. So take a moment of your day and enjoy the couch psychology from your resident cynic that ensued after a delayed text message fiasco.
An unadulterated review of Every Plate
What do you do when you love cooking and want to eat healthier but you work five days a week and you're so damn tired that you just can't find the energy to plan out a week's worth of meals and do the grocery shopping during the weekend?
To the ex who promised we would stay friends
To the ex who promised we would stay friends. The ex who swore up and down that we would never leave each other's side. The ex who begged me not to leave him. The ex who talked to me every single day for three years after we broke up, because we were friends first. The ex who made it nearly impossible for me to fully move on because I didn't want to make him jealous or upset. The ex who turned to me for advice on women after we broke up. The ex who came to me for everything. The ex who took three years to get over me. The ex who now pretends I no longer exist,
In A Mind
"Do you think he'll make it, Doctor?" "I'm sorry, I can't say for sure. This is nothing like anything we've seen before. His vitals all seem to be okay, he's on a respirator, but we're not entirely sure that he even needs one. We don't want to take him off just yet, but we may be able to do it at some point in the near future. He's healthy for the condition he's in, Mrs. Gregori. Everything is fine for the time being, except for the fact that he isn't waking up."
Noises in the Night
It started while I was fast asleep. I know I probably did actually hear it right away, deep down in my subconscious, but I can't be sure. I can tell you that when my brain finally made the connection with my ears, it sounded like the noises were coming from the dark recesses of my then still sleepy mind, from somewhere so far away that it was just a faint echo, almost like a phone call with awful reception. When, among my dreams, I realized I was hearing it I woke up so quickly it was as if someone had set off a car alarm right next to my ear. Wide awake, I sat there in total darkness, my bedroom just a black hole in the depths of our fairly large, somewhat old home. I listened to every tiny little noise the house could make, every creak and every groan, trying my hardest to discern what was real and what I only thought I'd heard.
The World As It Is
In a cold, dark prison cell a once young and beautiful woman sat staring out the single window she'd been granted. She looked at the leafless branches on the trees outside and the gray grass of the dying fields around her lonely prison. She could see the now familiar feeling of death and despair in everything she looked at. She remembered a day when the world around her held an air of magic and perfection, a day when she was the definition of grace and beauty, but in more recent times she was finding it harder and harder to remember those happy days.