Feelings On Paper

Monday, June 6th

Sunday June 5th was the last time I ever told you I loved you. Not told, texted. If it was spoken, like it had been earlier that morning, maybe I would have not ended our relationship on the 6th.

Monday, June 6th, I cried the entire time I texted you, guilt and shame overtaking my body. I wanted to be with you, I wanted to hug you and be able to express my feelings to my best abilities and for you to see that I was hurting more than you could imagine. I wanted you to know that I was trying to be selfless. Being with you meant one of us suffering and I knew I was too selfish to let myself be in pain any longer. I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to push through every possible challenge that could come our way. I didn't care if I had to change who I was, rewire the trauma in my brain to please, because I was madly in love with you—obsessed.

Monday, June 6th, I didn't just realize how different we were and how much of a challenge it would be to be together, I realized my toxicity. How jealous I had become. I wanted you all to myself, I didn't want the girls (and i mean all of them) at your work to see you, I didn't want them to perceive you in any way. I wanted you all to myself, I didn't want your friends and family (and I mean all of them) to hang out with you unless I was there. And instead of seeking for reassurance, and talk to you about it, I learned to hate every single one of them.

Monday, June 6th, I didn't just realize how toxic I had become, I realized I was ill. I knew before I was sick, but not to a point where the world seemed fake and you were the only real thing in it. Not to a point where my world revolved solely around you. Not to a point where you became the reason I wouldn't kill myself. And I knew laying that responsibility on you, was selfish.

Tuesday, June 7th, I called off work, cleaned the house, took care of myself and then you came. And all my body wanted was to jump in your arms and cry and say how sorry I was and kiss you and feel you again as who you were, mine. But I couldn't, that would have been not only unfair, but selfish. When we hugged, I felt my world crumble around me. The ground shook beneath us and I swore your frustration and sadness could have teared the earth into pieces. Looking into your eyes made me feel immense guilt, so much so, as soon as the gate closed, I ran to my mother's arms a sobbing mess, proving her right that we would end again in tears of sorrow.

Tuesday, June 7th, I called off work. I barely ate, and when I did make myself a plate, I cried for an hour and ten minutes, hysterically crying into my hands, fumbling for tissues, wishing the pain would go away because I could no longer tell if what I had done was right. If I truly did want to end things or if I had done so out of impulse, out of mania. I could not trust my head anymore. What had been only thoughts of you turned into thoughts of every single thing I could ever worry about. I hadn't wished death so badly in that moment, because I no longer felt like myself. I didn't feel like I belonged anymore.

Wednesday, June 8th, I worked. My boss kept asking what was wrong. How could I tell her I let go of the person I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with because I was going insane?

Wednesday, June 8th, I went to my usual place of safety, and  after only two hours of sitting and not being able to focus on my writing, reading, or drawing, I remembered when we played chess there. I left in tears, arrived home with tears, and wondered if you were now too upset to go to your game night that day the same way I couldn't do my Nectar night.

Thursday, June 9th, I told my therapist about how I broke up with you. She barely spoke of the matter, commended me for doing what I thought was best, that sometimes we have to let go to get better. I didn't mention that the "Siri Suggestion" on my phone to text you had made me have an anxiety attack at work. I didn't tell her I regretted breaking up with you. I didn't tell her that I loved you more every passing day.

Thursday, June 9th, I was sick, coughing and losing my voice, and I somehow thought I deserved it for the hurt I may have caused you. I deleted most of our posts on my private account, I deleted most of our pictures except for my favorites, and I wore the shirt you had gotten me to remember, that I never once regretted dating you, but I wasn't sure if I did regret letting you go.

Today, Friday, June 10th, was the first time I woke up not expecting a good morning text from you. Its a bit upsetting to admit, I have already started forgetting what the sound of your voice sounded like, so I refuse to delete all videos of your voice. I've started talking to a boy who's nice enough but made it clear I am not ready for a relationship any time soon. The truth is, I just miss the attention. I miss feeling wanted, I miss you. Of course I do, no one ever made me feel the way you made me feel. God had made us for loving each other, despite our unfortunate circumstances.

June 10th feels so far away from June 6th, and June 6th feels like a nightmare that never should have happened.

I wish I could do it over. I wish I had been face to face on the 6th, maybe then, the 7th would have had a solution to this gaping hole I punched through my chest, leaving my heart with you when I left you. Maybe I would have felt your kisses stream down my torso and legs on the 8th, I would have not been sick on the 9th and we would have gone to watch the sunset, and today the 10th, we would have made love trying not to wake your mom who was in the other room.

Tomorrow, Saturday the 11th, I will try to let go, and realize that what is done, cannot be taken back, and grief is part of losing you.

On the 11th, I will speak and tell myself, "You did the right thing."