Her gaze was always drawn toward the sky, her thoughts running amongst the clouds. She felt nothing like an angel, but was always dreaming of flying. No she was no angel, but felt like the fallen. Always longing for belonging, knowing her place was nowhere on earth but among the stars.
I’m standing on the platform, looking at the train approaching, I can’t help wondering what would happen if I jumped now? What would happen to the people standing along with me. How would it impact their lives? How would it affect my family and friends? Who would attend my funeral? And how long would it take for people to move on? Because they inevitably will. That’s the real kicker about time right? It moves regardless of how we feel. With no regard to us.
Will the people on the platform wonder if they could have mattered? Will they feel guilty for not reacting when they first noticed me? Or did they never notice the pain behind my eyes? Were they preoccupied with their own demons? I wonder if my pain is not as apparent as I feel it is. I look at my chest searching for a hole, where my heart was before you stole it.
I’m standing on the platform, looking at the train approaching. It stops.
I think I can now relate to how a druggy feel when craving a new fix. I need to hear your voice. To see you. To understand that we were once real, and that reality now is, that we are not. I feel like I’m trapped in a nightmare and I can’t wake up. My brain is reasoning this must be a nightmare, because even I can’t be stupid enough to give up on us. On you. On myself. We weren’t picture perfect, but the perfect picture. Why did I let us go? And why didn’t you fight me? I thought we were more.
I’m mourning. We were supposed to get married next week. That was the deal we made, the plan we’d been working towards from 6 months into our relationship until it all collapsed around us. Our fifth year anniversary as a couple was supposed to be spend making it legal. We were supposed to be trying for a baby. Instead I’m spending the week packing my stuff, relocating and unpacking a new chapter of my life. And eventhough it was my idea to break up, eventhough I’ve had 8 months worth of time to get used to the idea of leaving I’m mourning. I’m crying and I can’t seem to find the point in all of this.
I’ve never shied away from my feelings, and I thouroughly believe that if you are going to be doing something you need to put your all in it. I don’t halfass important things. So when I love I love with all my heart, and I loved him. I do still. And I know I’m not madly, deeply and irrevocably in love with him anymore, but he is my best friend, and he has been my whole support system for the past 5 years. So I still mourn. I mourn the love we lost, the love that turned into a friendship I appreciate with all my heart, I mourn the kids we would have had, the future we talked about and conjured for ourselves through countless of talks over the years. I mourn for the unconditional support I’ve lost with him and our relationship.
I also fear. I fear the unknown. I’m afraid of the uncertainty my future suddenly holds. I’m afraid of being alone. I’m afraid of ending up alone, because if I couldn’t make it work with him, my best friend, then I don’t see it happening with anyone else. I’m afraid that I never get to experience being a mom. That I never get to be a bride. I’m absolutely irrevocably terrified that I’ll never experience being happy.
About reality. It’s a concept I’ve struggled a lot with in the past, and I guess I still do today. It’s probably not been made easier by my issues, but I’m not sure that’s what caused it. I mean.. How is reality constructed? I know some distinguishes reality from imagining – or lies from truth. But what happens, when a lie has been told so many times you can’t remember what the truth is?
I lied a lot growing up. First I lied so my parents didn’t know I was picked on, then I lied to fit in, then I started lying so people wouldn’t know how bad things were. And somewhere along the way I lost track of what was lies and what was reality, and it can still mess with my head. I can think back to a situation and be certain I was there, that it was reality, and later find out it never happened. I can wake up from a night out and not be able to distinguish between what I dreamt, and what is alcohol induced haze. I can read a book and get so submerged in it, that I actually feel loss when its over – feel like I know the people in real life, and find myself sharing anecdotes, just to remember they never actually happened but were fictive events in a book or movie. And to be completely honest with you, it scare the shit out of me – because if I don’t even know what’s real and not inside my head, how can I ever find peace?
Lately I’ve found myself getting frustrated with myself. Annoyed that I overthink everything, that my brain never slows down but always goes a mile a minute speeding through ridiculous questions and debates that serve no purpose other than distress me. I’m really hoping some of these ramblings will limit the ramblings inside my head. I try to limit the more crazy ones from appearing here, but if I slip up a little, feel free to tell me.