The truth.

The truth is … I feel I was lost. Like she lost me.  Like I’m a thing to be lost. Like I’m an object. One of her bought things. Like I belonged to her and she … just lost me. And didn’t go looking. Or try. Or want to. Like I– I am nothing.

I felt like this before, similarly. With ex. And when I tried to kill myself. Every time. I felt like this. Like there was a big space inside my body which was me, a lost thing. Empty. Empty of all the full things we put there. Reamed. Excavated. Carved. Shelled. I remain empty right now.

It’s not a matter of fear, or hate. It’s not a matter of wrong doing. It’s not a matter of spirituality to save me. Enlightenment won’t. I am bro—I am borrowed by myself from her possession and I won’t be returned, because she won’t ask for me back, and I won’t go to her. I won’t be some unwanted thing put upon her. It’s bad enough I take care of me, this unwanted thing. It’s bad enough, I feel so put upon myself.

I did it for love. Love of her. Love of self. To prove to her something. To prove I can be happy without her. I .. succeeded. At a detriment to myself. I hurt me, by trying to hurt her. Karma. I’m paying my wrong action towards her. Just because she wronged me, just because she couldn’t be what I wanted, doesn’t mean I have any right to … harm her. Sent her ill thought. Feel such animosity. I don’t, mostly, but deep down…

I hate her. She left. She lied. She cheated. She said she’d be there and wasn’t later. She promised and broke it. And I was… so pathetic. Scared the entire time. So hopeful. So begging. I gave all of myself except.. trust. That one thing I withheld. And it was..

The hardest to give.  The hardest to receive. Even harder to receive.

I wanted. So many things. With her I don’t think I wanted so much ever before. I would have done anything to be with her. Anything she asked. I still would. Except.. I know that’s wrong because if she asked me to be happy right now, if she asked me to let it go, to forgive myself, right now I couldn’t. I don’t know how. I don’t want to. I don’t want to let it go. Be happy. Forgive. Because then, its truly over. It’s gone. She is gone. And still she is the most important thing in my universe. Even now.

And I’m not hers.

And I know this is right. I’m supposed to be the most… I could be the most important thing In my universe. In my life. I could love myself more. But… And she’s fallible. Why would I love that? A personality. She will die one day. I’d lose her anyway one day. It doesn’t matter. I’d love her everyday for the rest of my life,  given the option. And then even my love is wrong. Possessive. I call myself and her a thing. Because I know this is how I relate. I’m not hard on myself for that anymore.

I really miss her. Like really. Like my soul, or something, got ripped out and away. And I can’t, fill it back in. why would I continue this if it hurts so bad? If it makes me feel all this.

Because I would do anything for her. Even suffer. For the rest of my life. The loss of her. It doesn’t matter what she’d want me to be doing right now. It doesn’t matter what she wants. This is what I want. I want to … it makes me happy to be miserable over her. It makes me happy to ruin my life out of that misery. It makes me happy to be like this. This contracted thing in a hole, separate. It makes me happy. Why? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know how I can love so much in this state. I don’t know how I can love so much, live inside this loss of her. I’m really tired of trying. To let her go. Of not being able to. Of..I don’t know. Of not getting what I want. Of getting what I want?

Do I want her more than I want to suffer? No. I think I love the misery. Of suffering. More than the actuality of having. I think I like this pain. I think I feel more secure here, in the darkness, than I do in the freedom of light. Like being in a hole, like this, in the moist dampness darkness of earth, is preferable to the vast expanse of a lite sky. I don’t know why I prefer this spot to the other but I know this is why I haven’t moved on yet. Allowed happiness yet. It’s because I need to be here. I long to be here. I need to hide. I create my own pain to do so

I waited my whole life to suffer this much. Maybe this was my intended goal. Pain is good. It’s not because I’m depressed right now I’m saying this. It is good. It is honest and true. It’s not a .. an evil thing. It is just converse. The other side of the coin. Great love. Great pain. Apart they are … too extreme, but together, say in the middle, you get them both. Its romantic, the relationship of opposites, the twist of them meeting magnetically and then twining together, like lovers do. I love her greatly, and I fear/hate/hurt greatly. I actually can’t hate her. Just her actions. Just the personality pieces which led to my pain. And I don’t … underneath, I don’t even hate them. All this, is scratching away at the surface of what I feel, unmasking the depths below.

I would do anything for her. And I would not because I am selfish. I want to feel these things for her. Because I do love her.  And I am aware, she is a reflection of me, and so I love myself, but this humanness in me just sees her and I think that’s okay right now. This is what is meant by human interaction. This is what is meant by sharing heartspace. Heartspace. The heart is neutral you know? It doesn’t see good or evil, as the mind does. It just feels, everything. And perhaps, on some higher plane, the thing we call heart is just loves, everything. I think that might be true.



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