hell will always come before you grow

I am really hurting. There are not enough synonyms for "heartache" or "pain" that can add up to describe how I'm hurting. There just aren't.

I knew it would hurt to leave. I knew it would be hard, and I'd have to get used to it. It turned into a muted ache. An ache I could live with, exist with, and still enjoy life while having it constantly preying on the back of my mind.

But I didn't expect what I should have expected. And that was to be completely blindsided. To recognize that I have to start on that stupidly long and painstakingly difficult road to recognizing I've lost. And it won't come back.

I think the reason I can't stop crying, I can't stop the sadness, I can't stop thinking about everything and memories, is only because my subconscious is holding on to some ounce of hope that it's not true. That somehow I'll prevail and win it again. But if I really understood, if I could really grasp it as it is going to be eventually, I wouldn't cry. Because there'd be no use.

I couldn't sleep that night. There were too many tears. I couldn't lay down because there was so much disgusting snot in my nose that it was impossible to breathe without taking gasping breaths through my mouth. My sides ached. My head ached. My heart hurt so badly.

I woke up the next morning with swollen eyes. Almost swollen shut. I cried again because my eyes were swollen. I refused to look at myself in the mirror. I don't know why though. I guess I knew I couldn't face empty eyes.

The whole day it was hard. It was hard to keep the tears inside. It was hard to not spend every cursed free second of thought, dwelling on the terrible news. I fought all day to keep my composure. Walking to the bus. Riding the bus. Riding the train. Walking to work. Going throughout my day. Going home. The second I'm alone, the tears are always ready and willing to greet my face. And they do.

I am really hurting. I'm kicking myself, every second I'm not forcing the tears back, for letting myself cling to these fantasies like plastic wrap. For believing for 3 seconds I'd come home to nothing changed. Everything waiting patiently for me on my door step. For allowing myself to dream up these romanticized reunions.

When you give every ounce of emotional being to someone, when you share every part of you with them, you invest all you've got because they just mean that much to you, and they throw it back at you? intentionally or unintentionally, you can do absolutely nothing with it. It's worthless, useless, because it's impossible to put back inside of you. You tailored it so specifically for that person. Nothing left but to throw it away. It won't fit anyone else. And now, you're left with an empty inside and an aching heart.

How does one risk it again down the road, for a slightly better maybe? Can you afford to throw yourself into it, all over again, everything, all you have, and have it denied? You can't. There's only one you, and only so much to have and to give. I wouldn't make it through this devilish trial twice. I would most certainly dive head first into an unavoidable depression.

How do you heal from losing the one thing, the one person, that became the most important to you? How do you heal? Do you? When does it stop hurting? Or does it only dull; maim your emotional well being, and then you move on?

I am really hurting, and I cannot ever describe just how badly. How horribly. It is consuming.

MP