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I fell apart.

My falling apart wasn’t beautiful, or glorious. It was difficult and ugly. It involved alcohol and 1.5 muscle relaxers. These contributed to my falling apart. I did things and said things I normally wouldn’t have. I became vulnerable, needed someone. And the only person I wanted was the one in the world that doesn’t want me. But the truth is, he doesn’t want himself. How I can expect to love someone who doesn’t love themselves? I loved the idea of him, I really did. And my heart makes me come off as being crazy. Because expressing your emotions and sharing them with someone passionately makes people crazy, right?

Honestly, my falling apart was a chance for me to come together again. And finally, after a month of depression, self doubt and dark thoughts, I feel like I’m getting back to myself. I feel stronger. I feel a new love for myself that wasn’t this strong before. I am beautiful. I am healthy. I am kind. I just need to protect my heart better. And I will.

My falling apart was a new beginning and I am ready for what’s to come.

Exist.

I wish you didn’t exist. Not in my world, anyways. Like some sort of disease you’ve seeped into my bones and refuse to leave. And not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. It’s more than that…I feel you. And before today I hadn’t even seen you in over a month. I wish I’d never met you. You’re the farthest thing from what I need, but I want you, and you don’t want me back.

And that eats at me. And I am not used to this. And I don’t know how to feel.

And you’re bringing me my book back tomorrow. Maybe. And truthfully, I don’t want you in my apartment. My new apartment with all my things. I fear you might seep into everything and I’ll never be free of your existence.

But I’ll invite you in anyways.

My almost.

The alcohol courses through my veins and suddenly things feel more… clear. But I want you to know that sometimes it’s the “almosts” that hurt the most. I wonder how you sleep in your bed all alone at night. I wonder how you feel. You found me and you captured me and I felt like for a short period of time we were one in the same. We connected on some sort of strange frequency only I could feel. I live once and I do so freely. And when I find something that I feel content with I want to run with it. I wanted to run with you. And to this day I’m not sure why. What did you want? Did you even know? Why am I so fucked up about all of this months later? Like I said, it is the almosts that cant hurt the most.

You were my almost lover with the sinful body. You were my almost love with the crystal blue eyes. But we are apart and we always were.

Will I ever find someone to complement me?

My almost.

The alcohol courses through my veins and suddenly things feel more… clear. But I want you to know that sometimes it’s the “almosts” that hurt the most. I wonder how you sleep in your bed all alone at night. I wonder how you feel. You found me and you captured me and I felt like for a short period of time we were one in the same. We connected on some sort of strange frequency only I could feel. I live once and I do so freely. And when I find something that I feel content with I want to run with it. I wanted to run with you. And to this day I’m not sure why. What did you want? Did you even know? Why am I so fucked up about all of this months later? Like I said, it is the almosts that cant hurt the most.

You were my almost lover with the sinful body. You were my almost love with the crystal blue eyes. But we are apart and we always were.

Will I ever find someone to complement me?

My ghost story.

You were beautiful. It felt like a secret I couldn’t bear to keep, so I told you. And you smiled, just a halfway smile, like you didn’t quite believe me. But I meant it, with everything I had. And when I told you this deep secret there was more behind it than just words. The statement was fueled by admiration and lust. As you knelt above me, as you kissed me gently, I had the overpowering urge to touch every inch of your body. Your milky soft skin. The little parts of your chest that were growing stubble, your strong legs that were long and lean, that carried you into my life. I can still taste the saltiness of your skin and I can still smell you. Sometimes at the grocery store a scent will hit my nostrils, and I’ll follow it or look for it like a dog searching for something. And I scan each face hoping to see yours but instead i’m met by strangers staring back at me.

And you’re so close yet so far. And I now I have simple memories, so complex in their simplicity I struggle not to let them haunt me. And sometimes when I lie in bed at night I think of you and I. Together. Laying in your bed in your quiet room and I can still hear your heartbeat, quick and nervous. I made you nervous. Do I still?

Like a ghost you came into my life and then you left. And for years I’ll keep telling myself our little ghost story, perhaps around a campfire late at night when I’m all alone and want to feel something other than loneliness.

I want to tell you something.

“I want to tell you about your heart— you’ve probably been neglecting your heart—and you don’t know.”

― F. Scott Fitzgerald

I think one of the most fascinating things about authors from the early 19th century and before is that the things they wrote about were so old, yet so new. Sylvia Plath wrote about depression and feelings of hopelessness. These were issues many people were facing and so reading her work brought people together, made them feel less alone. She was a pioneer of her amazing, although short lived, time on this earth. And leave it to F. Scott Fitzgerald to write a line that reverberates through time. He told us and we listened – we’ve been neglecting our hearts. And it can take a break-up, a death or even just a slightly traumatic life experience to realize the extent of neglect we’ve been putting unto ourselves.

The beautiful thing about realization is the ability to do something about it. I’ve put into action a new plan.

  • I won’t beg anyone to stay in my life, even if I love them. If they wanted to stay, they would. Simple.
  • I will give myself positive affirmations daily.
  • When I look in the mirror, even if I want to say something terrible about myself, I will smile instead and find something positive to say.
  • I won’t be so hard on myself. Seriously.
  • I am going to be more mindful. Stressing about the future is pointless. I will set a goal and work every day for it, but I won’t overwhelm myself.
  • I am going to stop fighting my brain and just accept thoughts as they come. Yes, he’s still on my mind a lot, but I’ve just been letting the thoughts of him come and go and accepting it. Peace

There’s more, but those are the main ones I am working on. Nothing like cramming your life with full-time school, full-time work, going to the gym and trying to keep your shit together. My mental break was what I needed and I am grateful for it. My feelings of hopelessness have dwindled away and I feel better than ever.

I’m back baby.

To the almosts.

This is to the almosts. The almost love, the almost made it, the almost could have beens.

These are the most heartbreaking sometimes. The lack of closure, the incessant thoughts, the wondering, “what did I do wrong?”

My sweet love, it isn’t you that did anything wrong. You loved with your whole being, you were afraid but you did it anyways. You walked off a cliff hoping for an ocean of love below you, but instead you hit rock bottom. And this is nothing to be ashamed of.

So here’s to the almosts. You’ve just got to remember you are not an almost, you are just enough and then some. xoxo

Raining.

It’s been raining all day in Oklahoma. It hasn’t let up. Not even once. It feels like a cleansing, of sorts. The past few months have been extremely difficult for me, and my futile attempts of maintaining my sanity failed miserably. I suppose the fact that I made it to the age of 30 without having a mental breakdown was a feat in itself. I should be proud. Instead, I remain doubtful. I feel great. Thanks to the anti-depressants? My mind feels clear. I didn’t know that my “normal” was not normal. I didn’t realize that not everyone’s mind raced constantly. I didn’t realize that my level of overthinking every situation was something otherwise known as anxiety. I wonder, would the way my mind worked before be enough to drive someone else mad? It drove me mad. I broke. I am fixing myself though. Meditation. Working out (which I’ve been consistent with all year). I am bettering myself. And my self love has grown immensely. Like Selena Gomez said, “I needed to lose you to find me.”

Rain, rain…please don’t go away.

A good idea.

It’s crazy to think about it. The fact that she’s probably over at his house right now. I bet if I drove by, her car would be parked outside. Or maybe she drives a truck. Parked in the same spot in the driveway that mine sat in so many times. While I was inside with him. Sitting on the couch, laid out across him watching movies on his TV. And I bet he’s feeding her the same lines. Calling her babe and kissing her at randoms times. Rubbing her back with his strong hands, putting his arm around her. And I wonder, is she falling for it like I did? Is she falling for him the same way?

I fell in love with the idea of you because you made me believe you were a good idea.

I finally broke.

My mental health had apparently been declining over the past few months. Something I was vaguely aware of but didn’t want to acknowledge. I was trying to stay strong, finish with school, work full-time, feel less lonely, make new friends. I was trying. And then I met Greg* and my world lit up a little bit. I felt loved and wanted and desired. And that loneliness subsided a little bit. And I fell, hard. Because that’s what all the poems and books say to do. To love like you’ve never been hurt. So that’s what I did. I went into it with opens arms, my heart on my sleeve, free for the taking. And he did. He took it and he held onto it and then he stepped on it. And I went through a downward spiral. The saddest part is, looking at it now, his actions made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like I wasn’t attractive enough, interesting enough, that I wasn’t desirable. And that’s truly the most heartbreaking thing about it all. I am all of those things and more, and how many women out there feel this way because of the actions of a man who cannot love? Or because of one that refuses to? There are so many people out there that have no idea the repercussions their actions can have on someones mental health and general state of being.

So I finally broke. And after an intense panic attack, a trip to the doctors office and some talking with a good friend, I am now taking anti-depressants which is something I was against for a long time. But the truth is, for a highly sensitive and empathetic person, the world can be treacherous. And after 30 years of being stepped on, treated poorly and taken advantage of, I needed help. I was depressed and anxious, and it finally caught up to me. And it took a heartbreak to make me realize how under water I truly was. I couldn’t handle it, I couldn’t cope. And I don’t want to be on these pills forever, but for right now they’re helping and it’s such a nice reprieve from being anxious and depressed to feeling…smoothed out. Stable.

I finally broke and it was probably the best thing that could have happened. Time to rebuild.