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.