Hello again,

It’s been a very very long time since I’ve found myself boiling over with words, with emotion. With so much emotion that it turns into words. This is going to be rusty but it doesn’t matter.

I’ve always said that my passion for words lies directly in my heartbreak and in my love. This time I’m feeling both.

I’ve fallen in love again. And this one isn’t a horror story like the rest, its a soft ballad. The kind of love that I’m not afraid to feel. The kind of love that makes me afraid I’ll never feel it again.

I met him accidentally. I wouldn’t go as far as to call myself a whore, I’ve never been one to fuck on the first night, but I met him. Oh god, I met HIM. It was supposed to just be sex. And then I accidentally never left and he never asked to me leave. It’s been a year and a half since I met Richard and for the better part of that time, I had a boyfriend who I didn’t love.

Rich and I, god we are so much alike. Almost to a fault. There’s only one other person in my life who I have felt a feeling like this with and he is long gone. But this is different, stronger. I miss the days when we would lay in the dark and talk about life and love and religion. The hours that we would cry in one another’s arms and relive the horrors of our past. I miss the hours I spent on his chest, learning his heartbeat and letting mine sync. I miss how perfectly my body fit into his. It’s like we’re puzzle pieces except it’s complete with just the two of us. How I could just roll over and fold into him and he would pull me in close and some primal instinct in me knew that he would never push me away. I knew in those moments that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

He gave me his house key.

He gave me his fucking house key. I kept it on my keys for weeks. He would wake up and let me sleep and I had his house key. Because he knew that I would always come back. He didn’t have to invite me because it was unspoken that he wanted me there and I wanted to be there.

I played hard to get. I pretended like I wasn’t girlfriend material, pretended indifference to his blatant feelings for me because I was afraid of him, of me, of us. And by the time I realized I was so helplessly in love with him, he couldn’t return it because he had other things holding him back. And so I dated someone else. For a year. And I never stopped thinking of him. Never stopped loving him, never stopped missing him.

And then we got back in contact and he tells me he loves me. He kisses me in front of his friends and says “I love you” in front of them so casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arms are so strong. Effortlessly strong enough to hold me up but never strong enough to hold up his own delicate emotions. I want to be his bandage, I want to love him strong and soft and kiss his broken places until they heal. But he’s gone now. He moved back to Albuquerque to avoid a DUI and god damn, I feel like I piece of my soul has left. I ache because he is so beautiful, so funny, so much of everything that I want and need in my life and I know that someone else is going to recognize that. And they’re going to fall in love with him.

He asks me if I’ve replaced him. As if it’s ever been a Fucking option for me. As if anyone else fucking exists to me. He can’t come back for 5 years. 5 years man, you know what can fucking happen in 5 years? Everything. A whole life can happen in 5 years.

How do I make this happen?

Maybe he doesn’t love me as much as I love him. You know? He asked me to move to New Mexico with him, and I said yes. I was ready. I knew what I wanted but he only asked me when he was drunk and then we never talked about it again. And when he told me to talk to him about it sober and I did, suddenly I’m a “disgusting, porn star, stripper.” And he’s accusing of wanting his dumbass friends.

Was it a defense mechanism? Was he hurting me because he was afraid if how loving me made him feel? Or was he hurting me because he hates himself and thinks that he doesn’t deserve me? OR was he hurting me because the only time he could ever love me was when he was drunk and he regretted how whole heartedly I was ready to drop my life and follow him. Maybe this fucking love story only exists in my own head.

Maybe, as Fucking always, I’m holding on to a knife by the blade and squeezing it until blood drips on the floor and calling it love.

Unpopular fact:

People talk about anxiety like it’s all constantly thinking your significant other doesn’t love you anymore and/or that you aren’t good enough for them and blah blah blah.

What they don’t talk about is how severe anxiety is taking 6 showers in a night to try to calm down. Or avoiding freeways even if it takes you an hour longer to get where you’re going. Not being able to eat because you feel like you’re dying. Staying up until the early morning because the anxiety goes hand in hand with insomnia. Not being able to focus on conversations or being rude to the person talking to you because there’s just too fucking much happening inside your head to try to concentrate on whatever the fuck they’re chattering about. Cancelling plans because you know you’ll be fine to get there but by the time you’re ready to go home your anxiety will be too high for you to even drive your own Fucking car. And SPEAKING of, having to pull over and have your friends come rescue you because you started panicking and then having to go pick your car up in a couple days when you feel able again. Feeling like a bottle of soda that’s been shaken the fuck up and getting sick because you can’t make it go away.

Mental illness is not a fucking trend, you’re lucky to be normal. Just because you get nervous in public situations sometimes doesn’t mean you have Fucking anxiety. Stop romanticizing the things that keep the people who struggle with it from living their normal fucking lives.

In the end, we are all just living to die.

Am I an impostor in my own life or am I simply becoming who I really want to be?

And what exactly is the fucking difference?