Everything Hurts

My story isn't that sad if I'm honest. I feel as though there are definitely people who have it worse than me out there. But still, I'm pretty upset, and it's mainly because my life went down the toilet in the exact span of two weeks.

It all started when my boyfriend broke up with me. Shocker, I know - a 20-year-old thinking that their boyfriend breaking up with them is the end of the world? Call the press.

Long story short about the breakup, though; I messed up. I said the wrong thing, projected my insecurities onto him, and it wasn't fair of me. I recognized this truth literally the next day, but by then it was too late.

He had said we could still be friends. He also had said I could still text him, even if he wanted space. He changed this after I left his house and got home, and essentially asked for me to not text him. I wasn't sure for how long, I thought he just meant the rest of the day.

So, being me, I wrote him an apology letter because I realized how I had messed up and sent it through text.

No response.

So I texted his best friend.

We had all been hanging out at his house at the time when we broke up. My (now ex) boyfriend and I had taken a minute alone because I had to leave early for work. In that moment alone, I managed to have the mess-up of a lifetime. We told the friend about it while I was still there. This friend had been very open with me before about how he thought me and my boyfriend should break up, something he never really explained well but swore he had good intentions for.

(Every time I tried to tell my boyfriend about how his friend's actions made me uncomfortable, he made me feel like I was doing something wrong and that I was hurting him. I started to believe him, until the point where I full-heartedly trusted this friend and thought he was also my friend. This friend had added on to the whole "I'm Crazy for Being Hurt By His Actions" train by outright telling me how horrible, in general, a lot.)

I cried that night, hysterically. This boyfriend was the first partner I had ever truly cared about, and the longest relationship I had ever had. He had consistently told me I was his soulmate and that he was going to marry me. He had told me he loved me two months into the relationship. He had told me I was always allowed to make mistakes, as long as I apologized for them.

But apparently my apology letter I had sent him through text was offensive. I had broken his boundary about not contacting him, and I honestly can see on some level why he would be upset. However, he did not tell me this - his friend did, along with a bunch of other stuff about how I had messed up which only made me cry harder.

The next day, I found out through a groupchat that my (now ex) boyfriend was now living with this friend at his parents' house. I had also found out that my (now ex) boyfriend was dropping out of college because this friend had somehow convinced him to. I was confused, and a little devastated, but didn't say anything. He had never mentioned any of these decisions while we had been dating, and we had only been broken up for a full day.

A week passed. My boyfriend threw a party with all our shared friends. He reached out to me briefly to see if I wanted to come, even though he made it clear he did not want me there. I turned down the offer but expressed I wanted to see him soon because I missed him and so I could properly apologize.

Everything went well for a week.

And then my grandmother died.

Her death was sudden and unexpected. She was old, so it did make sense, but she hadn't been sick. She had been going to the doctor a lot for her arthritis, or at least that's what she had been telling me for weeks.

I was raised by my grandmother until I was 12, and still saw and spoke to her at least a few times a month. She was practically my mother. I hadn't spoken to her in about a week, but thankfully the last words we ever said to each other were, "I love you, bye."

I wish I had more time with her. But I'm satisfied with the time I got.

I told my (now ex) boyfriend about it, and his friend.

Boyfriend didn't respond. His friend berated me, immediately after I had told him that my grandmother died, about the fact that I contacted my (now ex) boyfriend again. Saying, "Sorry, I don't mean to break your no-contact boundary again but my grandmother - the one who raised me - just died and I wanted you to know" was apparently unforgiveably offensive. Didn't I know they were going through hard times too?

I apologized and cried and received no response.

I thankfully have other people in my life who love me, and they supported me in this time. I had therapy the next day too, and my therapist bluntly told me how unfair the no-contact rule seemed, since I'm a person who prefers to talk things out, and how it frankly made no sense since it was obvious we needed to talk. She said I should respect Boyfriend's boundaries, but still express this to him.

She and I also agreed that his friend should stop getting involved, and that I should not talk to him anymore about my ex.

So I texted Boyfriend. He responded coldly, did not acknowledge my grandmother's death at all, and told me he does not want to hear at all from me for an "unspecificed amount of time".

I said, "Okay, I'll respect that."

And I haven't contacted him since.

The funeral was a few days ago. I carried her to her grave. I cried hysterically. I laughed. I talked to people. I stole a bunch of those funeral-parlor mints. It was horrible. I still can't even really feel her death . To me, she's at home, watching church on TV like always. I can just call her up and chat whenever I feel like it. I can go and see her, and take her out for a nice diner dinner. She'll wrestle me for the bill and I'll switch our cards out last minute so I end up paying, because I love to treat her and feel like I'm taking care of her in a small way.

But I can't.

Her house is empty. The TV is off. She died on the floor, halfway to her front door as if she was going to lock it. She died alone, some time on Monday. They didn't find her until Tuesday afternoon. I had tried to call her Monday morning but had gotten no response. I had figured she was busy; she had been going to the doctor a lot lately.

Ex-Boyfriend's friend texted me out of nowhere the day after the funeral. He said he didn't want to talk to me for a prolonged period of time because, apparently, I wasn't listening to his advice and "kept harming his friends". He did not elaborate on how I was "harming his friends" besides the fact that I had reached out to my ex-boyfriend twice - the first to apologize, and the second to tell him that the woman who raised me died.

Sometimes all you can say is, "Okay." Which is what I did.

I have never felt hate before. I'm still unsure if I have felt it now. But the days leading up to the funeral, I'm sure I knew hate. I hated my ex-boyfriend. I hated his friend. I'm not sure if I hate them now. I'm not sure if I care.

I have been suicidal most of my young life. Abusive parents, being LGBT in Catholic school, and bullying will do that to you. For the first time in my life, I am not suicidal. I don't want to die. But I don't want to feel this pain either. I want to feel hate. I want to feel something other than pain, and I want it to consume me. I want to be angry and indignant and upset.

But I just feel numb.

And yet, I don't want to die.

I've lost a lot in the past few weeks. I think I'll be okay. I will be okay. But for right now, I need to hurt. I need to feel the pain. I can't let it consume me. I still smile and laugh and shoplift earrings from Kohl's and take my little brother to the movies. But I still need to feel the pain, even though it hurts and even though I don't want to.

We'll see where this goes.