Love

I need to tell my story…

Every so often, I return to this blog. It hides my deepest, darkest secrets, but also my true self, my true experiences and my true feelings. Every time I’ve arrived at this place, I’m often desperate and seeking reprieve from my pain. This is the case at this very point in time.

It’s been more than a year since I broke up with K. It’s been one of the most difficult and painful periods of my life. There are moments when I feel so lonely, yet engulfed by memories that constantly creep into my consciousness. The only way I’ve learned to live a normal life is to harden myself against emotions, but every so often, they creep up on me, like maggots, and eat me up inside.

Tonight, I bawled and my soul howled. It howled for something more, something past, something happy. It howled for the moments I luxuriated in the light of love. It howled for the idealism I held so close to my heart for so long, and now lost. I’m not sure what life is for anymore and sometimes, I wonder if it’s not better for me to just disappear into thin air. I struggle so intensely every day and I’m not sure what for. Day in, and day out, I pour myself into work, into more and more stuff, perhaps in the hope that I could mask the deep hollow in my heart. But days like these, I have no defense against. I submerge into the tsunami of my memories.

I’ve been really good (mostly) since the break-up. I tried to numb myself against being the victim. I tried to be an adult. I tried to be more responsible. I tried to be a hard worker. I tried to be a team player. I tried. I tried to keep myself away from K. But he kept coming back, with emails and calls. Every time, it made my heart skip a beat. Every time, my heart is left more bruised than ever. Because I was still not wanted. I was missed, that is all. I was missed, as if you left a town you used to live in, but have acclimated to a new one. Being missed is the most painful thing in the whole wide world.

This is why I still stand bruised – after more than a year since I moved out of our apartment. Which he has now bought and renovated. The place where we were supposed to have made our home, but never was. The place I still sometimes encounter in my dreams. It always fades to nothing.

Today, and now, I feel like the nothing our love has become. This pain is so unbearable and all I want to do is nothing. Yet, I put on a mask and a smile every day, like I’m happy. Like I’ve not loved and lost. Like I’m not torn into a thousand pieces. Like I’m not held together by the flimsiest of courage and grit. Like I’m fine.

I suppose I shall go on. But, for how long?

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