I started the week feeling amazing and on top of the world. Then he messaged, saying he’d take something to go to sleep. I couldn’t help but remember the last time. He’s friends had called worried about him trying to find him, the next day he told me he had attempted to take his life. I snapped. I literally felt my mind snap in that moment. The roaring in my ears, the inability to focus on the world around me. He was fine though. But I couldn’t tell my mind that. I’d broken up with him and he had attempted to take his own life. I crumbled. I hated myself more in that moment, that I could be the reason the world doesn’t get to see his smile? Fuck.
Then Sunday he messages me saying he’s taken something to go to sleep. It was his exes birthday and she was with a new man. My heart literally felt like it was a mixture of someone grabbing it and squeezing it with all of their might. Forcing me to feel a dangerous cocktail of emotions. I was worried sick about him, but didn’t want to force myself into a position that was no longer mine. But also, he’d been saying she meant nothing. Clearly not. Watching someone you love so dearly, fall in love with another, is a torture I wouldn’t wish even on my worst enemy. It’s a slow destruction of the mind, taking it’s time to collapse and explode each section of the brain, till you feel empty. It’s taken every part of my knowledge to push myself to be happy for them. After they broke up, him saying it was because of me. He wanted me. I was stupid enough to allow the hope to creep back in. He’d taken the pills on the day of her birthday, and then sent me a bunch of texts. I woke up to them, and tried not to worry, surely he’d be okay. Hours went by and he wasn’t replying. I couldn’t even take my classes, and stared blankly at students as they waited for their questions to be answered. I could only string these painful events together in my mind. Eventually he messaged, he was okay. I tried calling he didn’t answer. I tried again nothing. He didn’t want my help now, all I could think was it was because he was probably sober now. It’s funny being told you are the main person of interest, but feeling like the last person in the pile. I want him all of the time. It’s impossible. He wants me only sometimes. He’s too busy otherwise, he has this on or this person needs him. Meanwhile little old pathetic me, sits and waits for his attention like the sunflowers stand to attention waiting for the sun to shine.
Cue a mental spiral.
I sit there and check if he’s messaged. Nope. I do this over and over. How pathetic I keep telling myself. How fucking sad of me. He’s not thinking of me, clearly. He’s doing him and killing it. I’m just being a gigantic sad sack awaiting his next contact. Nothing. Nothing at all. I woke up Tuesday and was willing to fight at least. By Wednesday morning I didn’t want to get out of bed. My body and mind felt too heavy to move. I took half the day off, built myself back up again and was going well till I spent the day arguing with teenagers, again. By the time I was driving home, all I could think about was the pool of red surrounding me, and when I would time calling the ambulance. The moment my front door shut, I collapsed in a heap and sobbed. Knowing I was too weak to ever go through with it, but too broken to stay and feel these emotions. I through myself into swimming and slowly let the world slip by.
I had made up my mind, I needed to block him. I couldn’t withstand his come and go attempts at communication. The lacklustre times we’ve hung out. I would sit and watch as he fell asleep on my bean bag. He was more than happy to throw money at the situation. But there was no care, or passion in his attempts with me. He’d already gotten me back, why bother right? I could never wrap my head around the fact that I told him to treat me as a friend alone, for him to kiss me goodnight and tell me that he loves me. Each time we spoke he’d call me babe, so easily fitting back into us. Into the version of us where he never tried, or made an effort other than money. I was hoping for the prince charming, the sweet kind man the did these magical things. I accepted he’d be my friend. I was devastated he chose his own option of minimal effort, whilst also getting the mundaneness of our past relationship. One where I watched him hoping for more. One where I watched him with the girl he dated after me, and he treated her like a queen. Was that all I was to him? Something in between his next relationship? Someone he could drop in, get a little fucked up, put in a little effort but get the physical needs of a relationship? Was that all I was to him? There was no excitement, passion or deep love. Just a lazy effortless attempt at love, while he organises his next match. He kept saying wonderful things, but his actions didn’t reflect his words. I was the one that was thinking of him, waiting patiently for this sign that what he said was true. It’s strange, I was happy being friends because I didn’t want to lose him. Once he came back and offered me a taste of us, I was desperate for more. Only to be put back into my place by disappointment.
I blocked him. He called. I answered. We went back and forth, him saying words. Me believing them. Till I remembered his actions. I hung up. He freaked out. It was my fault I didn’t answer correctly to assure him I wasn’t hurting myself. We fought.
He said he got me flowers, and regretted doing so. I’m not even worth his half arsed attempts that I don’t even know if it’s true.
I’m in love with a man whose words I can’t trust and actions leave me debilitated.
Flickering Dedications. 