…still holding on.
This immense emotional distress I am under is crushing. So story time: I found her. I found the girl I have, and will always have, a huge crush on. I got the opportunity to see her again after 8 years. And it was the best time I’ve ever had. I found that she actually enjoyed me and even liked me. But, as it happened 8 years ago, her last crush started talking to her again. And before I knew it, I was second place.
She told me I deserved better. I don’t believe her. I had a taste of what my perfection and future looked like. I don’t want anything else. Now we don’t talk. She’s found happiness in the arms of another man.
I pass the street that I’d turn onto to go to her house every single day. Some days I don’t think about it… many days, I glance down it as I pass. I don’t have much of a reason to go that way for anything. She’s the only reason that road means anything to me now.
And now, I find myself on some sort of awkward path to healing and self discovery. I will heal, but I will always let her break my heart. If she ever comes back to me, I will take her hand, if cautiously, and set my fragile heart within her grasp.
I will wait for her. Again. Only this time, I wait until I die.
…realizing that I have what I’ve named Anchors. These things are what keep me here. I can only think of a few Anchors right now, but 4 of them are people. Those that know something about my heart and the shroud of darkness around it. The are a few things that are Anchors. For instance, to the girl I once truly loved… I need to hear her voice one more time before I leave. But I’m honestly too scared to hear the words she would say if I reached to fulfill that.
I hope I get better. I hope I don’t need to hear her voice again. I hope I can heal. But so far, all I want to do is run. And like when you’re sick with an ailment, you tend to stay in bed. If you run, you’re not getting better…
When I sink into the worse than worse times… when the moments of utter darkness consume me, I realize some of the Anchors come loose. They make me float, threatening to let me go. This is why I want more Anchors. So when I fall into those moments, I have a secure footing through it. Thoughts that aren’t dreaming of a world without me. Feelings that don’t involve utter loneliness…
Here I lay, hoping for the best… expecting the worst…
Waiting for the end while looking at my hands.
People keep telling me to seek therapy or professional help. Yet I find myself violently against that notion. It’s as if my brain doesn’t want to get better. But my heart wants to love again. Love is my equivalent to being alive, and right now, I’m on the fast track to no pulse.
I’ve had fantasies of confronting the last true love I had. The problem with that is I know how it will end. It will start possibly verbally violent. I’ll scream at her that I loved her… tears welling in my eyes because I know, even after four and a half grueling years that she hated being screamed at… and she will say something like, “No. You never loved me” in such a quiet whisper that my storm will quell sk I can hear her every word, like she was a commander on a battlefield.
And she’ll walk away.
“Longstride!” I’ll call after her, hoping- no- praying she stop for just a moment, “I loved you more than life itself. I kept every picture and every keepsake. I never forgot you. And since you’re going, I know I can go now. Thank you for setting me free, Grim..” as I plunge a dagger through my bleeding heart.
…or what is left of it.
…contemplating the worst. Why? What does it matter? I’ve broken her heart and there’s nothing that can fix the crack in my heart for doing so.
“Suicide is not selfish. Suicide is, normally, death caused by the illness of depression. It is the final symptom. A final collapse under unbearable weight. Suicide is a tragedy. If you have never been close to that edge, try not to judge what you cannot understand.”
… on the precipice of loneliness. I make my lady unhappy with who I am… but we love each other dearly. I know it’s true.. I love her. I know it because I care about the things she does.
Yet that’s the downfall, too.
She sees no issue with posting her bikini selfies online for the general public.. she’s even posted herself in her bra… and with who I am, you just don’t do that… not while you’re with me.. if you’re with me, you and I are exclusive.. and I know the argument..
Bikinis and underwear show the exact same amount of skin.
I agree. However, underwear is intimate. It’s meant to be seen in the bedroom. If you share yourself with the public in intimate wear, what am I?
I’m sure many disagree with this and that’s okay. I hope I don’t catch too much flak for it..
Anyway, that’s one thing. The rest is similar, in that it’s something I view differently and she doesnt have an issue with. So she disregards how I feel about it, does it anyway… yet we love each other deeply…
Love is finicky and.. possibly overrated… so here I lie.
On the edge of goodbye…
…feeling forgotten. Only I do it to myself. I left my girls house early tonight so I could come home and play a video game with my cousin. I don’t regret doing so but now I’m worried. See, she’s a night owl. She can stay up all night. Her very gay friend will pick her up and they’ll hang out into the early morning.. I specify his sexuality because I have to remind myself shes with someone who isn’t romantically interested. But yet I worry..
I don’t mind if she decides i’m not good enough, which I really don’t think I am, and leaves me. What I’m worried about is not being worth being told I’m not worth it and getting cheated on.
Insecure much? Very. I’m man enough to admit that. But what is that worth when what you’re admitting makes you less of a man?
I am nothing more than
A little boy inside
That cries out for attention
Yet I always try to hide
~ Staind (Epiphany)
…late at night.. around the time I like to call the witching hour. This witching hour isn’t so bad this time. Another is awake and communicating. I feel better knowing someone else is there. Knowing that I’m not alone.
Of course… I look around my room, with the dim blue light of my tower fan being the only light.. I’m physically alone. I understand that you can be physically alone but not be mentally alone.. tell me why I crave both?
There are things I miss. Things I wish I could have again. Things that could relax me like the strongest drug; could lull me into a serene state of being with the easiest of motions… but I don’t think I can ever have that again.
The mind of a broken man is.. well.. chaotic.