My beautiful disaster.

I was 24 when I met him. From the across the bar he was the most perfect specimen I’d ever seen. Up close he was even more so. His smile ignited mine and from that moment on I’d forget what it meant to be alone. He was a beautiful disaster. A swirling of chords and notes that smashed into one another, creating a sort of chaotic free for all. For once in my life I could do what I wanted, and what I wanted was to be with him.

Reality hit shortly after. The blindness I had allowed to take over my life was soon healed. The veil was lifted from my eyes only to create the perfect storm of devastation and realization. What I thought was love was obsession. An obsession to not be alone. Alone I was nothing but a mess of nerves and anxiety. I was no one. With him I was something. I knew how to be around him. I was exactly who I thought he wanted me to be.

The drugs took over. His pupils, constantly dilated, looked at me with fear and longing. “Don’t leave me. I can change.” He’d say. “People don’t change…you’ve taught me that.” I said, as I sat in the Panamanian airport with him, feeling more alone than I’d ever felt before. Salty warm tears streamed down my face for all to see. People, see my vulnerability, feel my pain or laugh at it. It’s raw and it’s real. My heart breaking more and more with every painful thought of losing him.

“People don’t change.” I thought. As I flew miles and miles away from my beautiful disaster.

Recipe for loneliness

I used to cry a lot. A lot more than I do now. I remember when it first happened, I cried every day. All the time. Little things would trigger the emotions and they’d come spilling down my face, little salty pools of sadness. But after some time went by, it got easier. The wounds started feeling more like tender little scabs. And eventually, those little tender scabs turned into scars that didn’t hurt anymore unless I really tried to make them. And eventually I stopped trying to make them. I stood up and decided that I didn’t want to be sad anymore. So I succeeded. I succeeded in so many ways. In finding out what I wanted and sticking to it. I succeeded in finding a respect for myself that is so high, I could never lose it. I found my morals. I got my life back. From a pit of depression and darkness rose this amazing creature, almost unrecognizable. But to me, I’m as beautiful as I have ever been. But I am also very much alone with myself. They say that you have to learn to love yourself before you can expect anyone else to love you. Well here I am. I love myself and sometimes if I wonder if it’s too much. I gave all my love and everything else to the last one, what if I don’t have any more to give to someone else?

I feel like I got my life back, but only half my heart with it. There are still nights when I am lying in bed completely sober and I suddenly miss him so much my heart hurts. The sobs hurt my chest and I feel it slowly start shrinking. How can you miss a man who did you so wrong? Perhaps it is not him that I miss so much, perhaps it was how I felt when I was with him that I miss so much. I miss looking over to the other side of my bed and feeling like the luckiest person in the world to love someone so much, and have them love you the same way. I miss the amazing emotional attachment I felt to another person. Even though you have friends and family, you can still feel completely alone when you’re in your bed at night. So to end this, I guess I am just still waiting for the rest of my heart to come back. I am still waiting for the man who wants my love and the one to give me his back. I want someone who gets my stupid jokes and doesn’t care that I say “fuck” too much, and who appreciates it when I do nice things for him. I want a man who can’t get enough of me, and I him. I think I want a man who doesn’t exist. And that’s the recipe for loneliness.