Tag: sadness

Temporary people leaving permanent memories

 

I know how some people aren’t in your life forever, that they’re just passing through.  But for some reason, I figured that was for other people and not me.  But here I am, scrolling through my Twitter feed and reading about a former friend’s new besties.  She says they’re “her life”.  I remember spending nights texting you and on the phone to you, giving you reasons to live when you were struggling.  I remember us confessing our darkest secrets to each other.  I remember watching fireworks with you, going climbing through woods with you.  I remember when things were at their worst between myself and my now-ex, you handmaking me a birthday card, giving me a big hug and whispering “please don’t kill yourself” into my ear, making me cry.

 

You got a new job, made new friends and just like that I was gone.  Awful fake excuses were made to avoid meeting up, and just like that we weren’t friends anymore.

 

The Girl I Liked, and still do even through she hurt me and some switch flicked in her head stopping her from caring.  If she ever did.  I wish I knew what I did to make her stop calling and texting and wanting to meet up or even doing me the basic courtesy of replying to me when I’m worried sick about her and her baby.  I run through all our interactions in my head on loop at night, trying desperately to find something.  I can be so oblivious sometimes, I can miss huge obvious things.  I wish I knew what was going on inside her head.  I can never be with you but I always want you in my life.  You were so good for my mental health and you were FUN, more fun than anyone else.  You lit up my day when you were around, made me the me of years ago before I became Eeyore.

 

I’ve got Facebook open and see you’re active now, messaging other people and not thinking about me at all.  I remember sitting with you while you got that tattoo a couple of weeks ago.  I remember going with you while you got your eyes examined years ago, walking you home from your first day at college, sitting with you and psyching you up for your first ever job interview.  Sitting with you and calming you down after your family embarrassed you in front of me and it broke your heart.  I remember the chocolate rabbit you got me, out of the blue, the first gift you ever got me.  I remember the day you were so depressed and I got you a t-shirt that you wanted even though it was way too big for you – and I remember the second time I saw you when we reconnected and you were wearing it, and a few weeks after giving birth it fit perfectly.  I remember the day you casually said to me as we were walking down the street, “you know I love you, right?”

 

Is it me?  Something I say or do?  I’m depressed as fuck a lot of the time and I know it shows.  I know that’s off-putting but is it really enough?  Is it because I told her she didn’t owe me anything after she told me how seriously she takes personal debts?  Maybe she just has a new best friend?  Another old friend back in her life, perhaps?

 

My ex, I understand why you cut me off, it’s better for both our sanity that we not try to be friends.  We wanted to be, but all it brought us was pain.

 

I feel awful right now.  Worse than anyone knows.  I won’t kill myself, because I believe that as long as I’m alive, no matter how bad things get, there’s a chance it’ll get better.  It has done once before when I was right on the edge.  A wonderful girl made me a birthday card and gave me a hug and reminded me that I mattered to some people.  She’s moved on now, but who knows what the future might bring?

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One Year Today

Today is one year since I was with my ex.  One year since we made love.

 

I barely remember our parting at the airport and I hate myself for that, except that it wasn’t as emotional as our previous goodbyes.  I remember thinking I wouldn’t be back after the fighting we’d done.

 

She did more for me than anyone.  She loved me so much.  I hate myself for falling out of love with her.  I hate myself for not being strong enough to deal with her problems and I hate myself for having feelings for someone else while I was hers.

 

You’ll never read this, but I hope you’re happy.  I hope you’re doing better than me.  I’m so sorry for hurting you.

 

I miss happiness so much

A year ago, I went back to stay with my (then) girlfriend in the US for two months.  Our relationship had been crumbling for awhile but ultimately it was there and with her that I’d been the happiest in my life, and my depression was spiralling out of control.

 

So I went back, and did all the things that made me so happy before.

 

Only this time, I didn’t feel a thing.

 

I remember laying with her in bed, once the most satisfying and amazing feeling ever, and being frustrated that I wasn’t feeling the same way.  We went to NYC and beyond a bunch times and saw amazing things, expensive things and I didn’t feel the blissful joy I used to.  I was numb.

 

To put it another way, if the good feelings used to be the equivalent of lying naked entangled with your loved one after amazing sex, they were now holding hands in thick gloves outdoors in the middle of freezing winter.  There’s a little something there, but it’s not the feeling I used to have.

 

And all the bad feelings I was experiencing every day were as crystal clear and sharp as ever.

 

And worse, she could tell and was afraid she was losing me.  And she was trying so hard.  And that broke my heart and I didn’t know what to do but try to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault.

 

We broke up not long after I got back to England.

 

She’d be absolutely horrified to know the highlight of my life now is drunkenly making out with some guy I barely know in an underpass right before he snorts coke, or being slightly too close to a girl half my age and risking destroying her new family if I step an inch too far.

 

There is no light on the dark side of me.

Depression and masturbation

When I was with my ex, we had sex every day.  It was amazing, with like three or four exceptions, we did every fucked up fantasy thing she and I ever wanted to do (and then I learn that friend I’m crazy about does all those three or four and probably a whole lot more).  Then we broke up and 11 months of my not having sex happened.  I’m at the point where “taking care of business” myself isn’t fun anymore.  As much as I love the internet’s infinite supply of amazing and creative free porn, I always just feeling lonely and sad afterwards.  It just reminds me of what I want the most and aren’t getting.

 

So I quit.  And my balls haven’t exploded, I haven’t become an uncontrollable horny beast.  Everything’s the same, but my internet history isn’t being deleted every day or two.  Maybe it’s the depression.  Maybe it’s being in my mid-30’s and slowing down.

 

All I know for sure is that I really miss having sex.  Kissing, holding, undressing, worshipping, fucking.  That amazing feeling from making someone cum again and again.  The way someone kisses you when they’re lost in the heat of the moment.  Laying together afterwards and having raw, emotional conversations.

 

Some day again, I hope.

Am I an Attention Whore?

A long time ago, I was happy.  My happiness came from within, a contented feeling from having achieved more in life (as incredibly modest those things were by anyone else’s standards) than I ever thought possible.  But as I became moderately popular in my little circle of friends, something gradually changed.  My happiness stopped coming from within, and instead came from how I was seen and treated by those around me.

 

Which means I’m happy when I’m surrounded by friends, and depressed as fuck when I’m alone.  I take it ridiculously hard when friends go out without inviting me, or don’t reply to texts.  I’m the guy who never gets the hint to leave because I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts.  I even get jealous when I’m not someone’s best friend – and yes, I realize how weird and fucked up and unhealthy these thoughts are.  People have friends and people more important than me and they’re allowed to.  They’re allowed to go out and hang with people that aren’t me and have a good time, just like I sometimes go out with people that don’t include them and have a good time too.

 

So why, if I can understand this intellectually, does it still hurt so much every time I’m left out?

 

The Ex and Her Dying Dog

My ex is back to torture me.  This time she’s using her dying dog as an excuse to lash out.  She texts me to tell me the dog has cancer and is dying.  This same dog she told me many times she planned to kill herself once she died (She used to say being with me was the only thing that kept her from killing herself.  But towards the end I wasn’t enough and she was going when the dog did)

 

Do I get any details?  Fuck no.  No details about the dog I love and walked and fed every day I was there, and that woke up snuggled up with every morning.  The dog that came when I called her name and not when my ex did. Instead I get how I put my friends ahead of her for the millionth time.  She didn’t like me having friends, especially female ones – which is really awkward since most of my friends are women.  She wanted me in a box with no other human contact, and in a long distance relationship like ours (did I mention she’s in the US and I’m in England?  And I’d save up and spend a few months with her between part-time jobs?  The rest of our relationship was on Skype) that’s not healthy at all.

She used to say it’d be okay if I had more guy friends and hung out with them, but I never told her about the time I got really drunk and made out with a guy.  I don’t think she’d have offered that alternative if she knew.

 

I’m so angry at her, I want to lash out and tell her that what she’s doing is emotional blackmail, but I’m afraid she’ll kill herself if I say anything negative.

 

I don’t even know if the dog or her are alive right now.  I’m crawling out of my skin with worry.  She has friends there (she’s allowed friends.  Including female ones when she’s bisexual, but that’s a double standard for another time)

 

It’s St. Patrick’s Day.  I want to be with friends but no, instead I’m at home and hating myself, feeling guilty and terrified that someone I love (even if I’m no longer in love with) is dead or planning their suicide and blames me for everything.

Karma

 

They say it’s karma to fall in love with someone who doesn’t love you, for not loving someone who did.  And it’s true.

I fell out of love with someone who loved me more than air.  My deteriorating mental health, combined with her mental health issues – bipolar, BPD etc – made our last year together (of four) hell.  I used to help her through her downers, she’d lash out at me but it was water off a duck’s back.  But 2 years ago she changed.  During her downers I became the enemy, and she’d find ways to hurt me, to bring me down with her.  She broke me heart again and again.  She’d apologize afterwards, swear she didn’t mean it, but I know she did.  She meant every word.  And it just got worse, until I, numb from antidepressants I’ve since quit, told her the truth and broke her heart.  It was the hardest thing I’ve ever said.

Now I’m in love with someone who, for many varied reasons, can never ever be mine.  And it really, really hurts.

I hate myself so much.