There were all these things that always made me laugh. There are all these e-mails and stuff that I kept and every time I used to look back, they'd make me laugh or smile. I used to look back and see something that made me happy.
I look back at those same documents now, and wonder what the fuck happened. I don't laugh or smile when I read them now. Now I'm asking myself what went wrong. I'm asking myself what I should have done differently. I don't know.
A few days ago, I valiantly declared that I was letting go of him. I now think that the only thing I'm letting go of is the notion of letting go of him. Okay, so I'm not as completely obsessed with him as I was before, but still, there's this part of my mind that still draws a connection to him in the most bizarre of ways, and I can't say that I don't like that.
He's been such a big part of my life. I think it was really him that taught me, in a really fucked up twisted way, that things all even out. It'll get better. Sometimes it does have to get worse before it gets better, true; but things will get better. It's really strange that I would learn that from him, because his whole life was basically the complete opposite of that. I think it was also him that taught me to see myself instead of everyone else. I don't know how I could have gotten that from him either, but I did.
I still worry about him. I still worry that he's doing something stupid, like getting high or getting drunk. I always hated to think of him drunk or high. I still hope that he's stayed sober. I hope that he's just listening to his music way too loud and thinking of ingenious ways to commit suicide, although publishing those ideas and methods, I hope he's stopped doing. I don't know why, I guess it's just one of those old habits that die hard. Real hard.
I try not to think of how things could have been, or how things could have turned out. This is the way it happened. I need to deal with it. I have never enjoyed dealing with my own problems; they're always tiresome and dramatic. I think things are getting better because I now have Monsieur Poches to confide in, but I didn't always have someone.
When I look back, I want to remember things for what they were; nothing more. I could list out all kinds of things between him and me, but I don't think that anyone else has the attention span to withstand that long of a list. I counted the number of times, from the day I met him, that we had actually been talking face-to-face and not on the phone or IM'ing. Fifteen. We've only talked face-to-face fifteen times in almost two years. It's insane. You have no idea.
I was hoping to see him when he came home from school this week, but I don't know if that's going to happen. The hardest part of breaking up has been that he hasn't talked to me at all in over two weeks. I want to talk to him, but I don't know what I would say. I have been trying to avoid the thought that we may never talk again, ever, but I think I'm losing the battle and the stupid thought keeps looming into my mind. I can't stand that thought. He knows basically every detail of my life for almost two years. I'm starting to feel a little desperate about all this.
There's this cold, empty dread filling my whole being. I don't know what I'm going to do if I lose him forever. It's not a good thought to bear right now. I know that things aren't looking bright for the future, but I hope that by sending him an e-mail apologizing for my stupidity (the phone call), he might send something back and I might hear something from him. I don't care what he sends back. I just hope he sends something. I'd even take something that says, "Fuck off, I don't want to talk to you. Never talk to me again." I'd even take that. This is how desperate I'm getting. I just want something from him. I just hope he doesn't take it the wrong way.
The paranoid thought that he thinks of me like some of his other past girlfriends has crossed my mind. I hate to think of it like that, but that might actually be what's happening. I hate to think like that. His last two girlfriends … they weren't so great. His girlfriend from the summer of '06 calls him sometimes and he used to ask me to call him so that she would get the busy signal. And his girlfriend from the fall of '06 … err, let's just say he kind of wishes her dead.
My eyes yearn for sleep, but I stay awake. I can never sleep when I'm thinking of him, anyway. It's surprising I slept at all for six months. If I do fall asleep thinking of him, I always dream the most twisted things. Like the rose dream. I ended up penning something for that and writing a verse to go with it. That dream was just odd. Or the basement steps incident dream. It's dreams like that one that truly scare me.
It's hard not to think of him. He was such a big part of my life for so long. It's really hard for me to think of not talking to him in the future. I try not to distract myself with thoughts of him, but rather think about things like my friends and homework, and other stupid things like that. I think I've thought about some other guy like once. I can't bear the thought of actually moving on.
I don't know, I just don't want to move on.
a/n: Fact. Fact, fact, fact. But still interesting to read, nonetheless. It could be fiction… if you're not me and you wrote it. Whatever, I think it was actually kind of cute.