#18.11

[shania-twain]

amanda rollins + supporting her bf fellow coworker

[beaniebabybdays]

Happy Beanie Bday to: Goochy the jellyfish!

[cinnamongay]

“we have the right to protest!”

[itsflywithme]

[daily-capaldi]

Lewis and Niall last night playing at the Jingle Ball ❤️

[mavininessizligi]

Sevdiceğime ithafen💙

[world---in---my---eyes]

Alan Wilder, Dave and Jack Gahan, Dortmund (18/11/1989) Photo © ? // from Markus Raebiger’s old photo collection, he does not have more info Source: _alan_wilder_ [1], [2], [3]; Depeche Mode; never_let_depeche_mode_down // actually from Depeche Mode Classic Photos and Videos

[heartache-is-my-muse]

18.11.2019, 3 days post-breakup

I think the reason I’m in such denial is that I never saw this coming. Not from you. Not so fast. Not for such reasons. I just didn’t see it coming altogether. Coming from someone who preaches about how committed they are in relationships. Coming from someone who just a few days ago told me something like "Just because I can’t marry you doesn’t mean I’m not serious about you”. Coming from someone who just a couple days before said “I don’t want to break up. It’s your decision”.  Coming from someone who made it clear that obstacles meant nothing when they love me so much. Coming from someone who always tried to accommodate my well-being, even when it opposed theirs. Coming from someone who made me believe they saw a future with me. Coming from someone who hardly complained about me. Coming from someone who, just a while ago I was laughing and having fun with. And yet it did. You did it. You ran away and took my heart with you. I guess even good people know when to say enough is enough.

At times I feel okay. Like this isn’t so bad. I find myself smiling so much that I start to believe my own bluffing. I laugh so hard. But then it turns into a sob and I realize I can’t fool myself. And that this isn’t how I wanted things to end. I’m living in this bittersweet gray area, where one moment I try to convince myself you made the right decision, the next I’m drowning in self-pity wishing you’d come to me out of nowhere and say that you love and how it was all a mistake.

The reason I’m feeling so bitter is that I can’t shake the feeling that the relationship ended before it even properly started. We couldn’t live it to its fullest. Most of my happiest memories with you involve me sitting in my room and reading texts that made me fall head over heels. I wish we had more time to actually be around one another. There are so many things I wanted us to experience together. I wanted to take you more places, show you more things about me, go on trips and do silly things. Have the kind of personal interaction that, over time, makes you develop a million inside jokes and see all the little quirks that you can’t help but adore. I wish we had met differently, that we had a more typical progress to our story, that we could’ve lived out the different stages around each other, holding each other, kissing each other. Instead of texting and waiting, waiting, waiting…

It all happened suddenly, one thing led to another and the end reeks of unfinished business. What do I do now with all the new playlists I was making you in secret? What with the lists and couple apps I wanted us to try together but was waiting for you to feel better before I could mention any of them? What about all my fantasies that involve us happily together? What about these crippled feelings in my heart, that are slowly losing their voice? What about the folder I’ve dedicated to your pictures and all the cute posts we’ve shared? What about our photos together? What about the gifts? What about the memories? What about the anniversaries? What do I do with all of that? Do I discard it all and pretend it never happened? Do I press delete on everything and throw away any reminder of you? Or do  I keep it safely sealed and all in my heart, in the hope that one day, someday, maybe we could be us again? What about this pain screaming at me, refusing to believe you’re no longer my baby? What do I do about that? Especially that…

I keep telling myself this is what I wanted. That if I had to endure another second of it I would’ve been the one to end things anyway. Wasn’t I the one telling her friends I felt stuck and like I’m missing out? Like my youth was slipping by while I watched idly from the passenger’s seat? Because you weren’t here, and being with you felt like living with the hope of a relationship, instead of an actual one. No matter how much I looked at it, I always felt like I rushed into this relationship. I wasn’t in a great place when I first started talking to you, but you radiated an energy different from everyone around me. I found this connection with you that I craved to have again with someone, anyone, that I forgot to hit the brakes when you offered me love. I couldn’t refuse it from someone who moved me, who made me feel things that barely anyone could trigger inside of me before. So I jumped into it with eyes closed. Or maybe my eyes were open, and I saw it all, but I refused to let them guide me. Because I finally found what I craved so much and for so long, that I couldn’t stop after one sip. Despite my foggy vision, I always knew something was off inside me. Maybe I shouldn’t have drunk the whole cup in one chug. Maybe I should’ve kept it away until I felt more alive again and ready for it. Because the more I drank, the more intensified my thirst felt. As though it was never enough, never too good, never quite right.

So maybe it’s not a real tragedy that you left, after all. Didn’t I want more control over my life? A time-out in which I can explore myself and set my priorities straight? So why does it all feel so meaningless now that I finally got the freedom back that I so much wanted? Maybe because I wanted to be the one making that decision. So that at least, I would’ve prepared myself, taken my time, chosen the perfect moment, the one where we were both in better mental places. See, I don’t like dropping bombs. I plan everything so carefully and maybe, as selfish as it may come off, I wanted this to be another perfectly planned endeavor, in which no one gets hurt and no one’s left hanging, the way you left me. But a bomb you did drop, and certainly not at the best of times. And it didn’t land without a calamity. I still can’t get over you. Mainly cause I refuse to, honestly. You were too special for me to forget. Special in the way you first caught my attention. In the way you asked me out. In the way you first kissed me. In the way you became my first girlfriend. In the way you made me feel things I was unable to translate into words. In the way you’re just you.

And yet after all that, now it’s like we’re strangers again. I see you online but hold back from saying hi, partly because I don’t want to be a burden, but also because every time we talk I sense this wall between us. It’s like we took a step in a direction where things will never be the same again, and I’d be too foolish to act or expect you to respond as if there’s nothing is in the air. There’s always this sensation of something tugging at my heart. A reminder that the you that belonged to me is gone, and that the me who was once all yours has to stop existing, because if all she’s going to do is cry about our short, dry interactions then she’s not fit for this situation. And yet every time I get a notification I wish it’s from you because it’d make me feel less bad about missing you. Because maybe, just maybe, I was on your mind as much as you were on mine. I mean now I wake up every morning pretending you don’t exist and spend every evening counting the reasons why I shouldn’t reach out. 

I think my biggest fear if I stop talking to you is that your feelings for me will eventually fade, and you’ll forget about me. That you’ll get so caught up in your own new life, that you start to realize it isn’t so bad without me after all, and that you’ll decide you actually don’t need me, never did. You’ll probably start to see all the ways I was making your life worse and be relieved that I’m no longer in it. Or even worse, that you’ll find someone new to love and tell her all the sweet things you couldn’t tell me, and experience with her all the things we never could. That you’ll give her things you couldn’t give me, love her in a way you couldn’t love me. I think I would feel like I was being robbed of all the things I dreamt about for us and never had.

At the beginning I couldn’t stop blaming myself for driving us down this road. I kept feeling like if I haven’t been so blinded by my own feelings, I would’ve realized how unfair it was to you, and I would’ve taken a different course of action. But looking back you were just as self-absorbed as I was. And I don’t want to start blaming you for things you probably weren’t aware of or didn’t do on purpose. But you couldn’t even wait it out until when I was feeling a little better. I did my best for so long not to disturb your life rhythm cause I knew you needed peace of mind, and yet you really had to deal that final blow on top of everything I was going through.

Now I look at you and you seem fine. Happy, even. And then I look at myself and how I spent days mourning this loss and bawling my eyes out. And I feel like I’m being too much. But then again it feels like I’m the one who’s always been too involved in this. Too feely. Too sensitive. Too emotional. Too expressive. Too needy. Too dramatic. Too dreamy. Too exaggerating. Too romantic. Too giving. Too quick. Too attached. Too invested. Too affectionate. Too deep. Too intense. Always taking things out of proportion. But maybe I wasn’t. maybe it’s just all the comparing myself to you that makes me draw out these conclusions. Or maybe I was. Maybe I am. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, and it doesn’t mean I’m weak. Maybe these things that make me who I am are not inherently negative traits, just cause they collide with yours. Maybe it’s okay to take my time now. To be sad when sadness is appropriate, expected even. To go through the necessary stages that it takes to bounce back from this. I think it’s finally time for me to accept myself for what it is, and that it’s only for the best if I wallow in grief for a while, to do what it takes so I don’t go down that same abyss where I was when I met you. So that this time, I give myself the time I deserve to see things clearly for what they are, and know my worth for what it really is.

I met you exactly 5 months after I ended my previous relationship, and while that should’ve been enough time to enjoy the single life, I didn’t use it wisely. After we got together I kept trying to ignore the thought that I didn’t do enough for myself before I got involved in a new serious commitment. So in a sense, maybe it is for the best that I’m alone again. I think I do really need this. It gives me time to clear my head and refocus on the things I really need. That way I can be sure of what I truly want out of life, or at least out of this time in my life. If I don’t I’ll always be living with the sense that I’m lacking something that I can’t even put my finger on. And you’re right, that’s unfair to you, to me, and to the relationship.

Finally, I believe I owe you an apology, for not letting you see this whole inner mess of mine. I think the problem was that I was too afraid to admit it all to myself in the first place.