I’m not sure who reads this any more. These glib entries of real life I paste within these ebony pages.
I feel sick to my stomach, but barely eating means there’s nothing to come up. I haven’t got an eating disorder. Maybe that would be easier to deal with than this.
This one time when I truly do want to give up on everything.
I told my mum that. I don’t think she quite understood it in the way I meant. I’m sure you probably have by now, dear reader. I guess I’m just so so tired of it all. I don’t think I can do it.
I just want to give up.
It’s hurt so many times before. I’m not unused to it. I know the sensation and I know there’s always part of me that goes; Well, chuck, we’ll make it through this – we always do.
This time there isn’t. This time I don’t even have my pride.
I’ve relied on my pride for a lot over the years. I’ve felt it there getting me through bad times and leaving me with at least some scrap of dignity left. Now I don’t have that.
I let myself believe somebody, you see. I let myself whole-heartedly trust in someone else. Someone who was my best friend. Someone who I tried not to care about in this way, terrified that this would happen. I asked him countless times if he was sure, if this was what he wanted, if he wanted to go back to someone else.
Everytime he was sure. Everytime it was what he wanted. And everytime he didn’t.
So I let myself believe finally that last Saturday when we went to Whitby. I thought it was okay to trust so wholly. I thought that everything he said, promises of the future and of his feelings… I thought they would be held true.
As I’m writing this, you know they’re not. You know that I’m hurting more than I have ever hurt. That I’ve lost my best friend. That I’ve lost the person I tried so hard not to fall for because I was so afraid. That now you will all know how silly I’ve been to trust someone so stupidly and so much in such a short space of time because things felt ‘right’.
And three friends I’ve made and respect will probably not be able to speak to me again because of this mess that I didn’t even make.
I didn’t sleep well last night. When I woke I thought fleetingly that someone would be there to greet me, but they weren’t. And then I laid awake in the freezing cold, watching my breath expand in my icy room, and actually willed my whole body just to give up.
Thoughts like that haven’t crossed my mind in years, but now I find I would rather that than keep going.
I don’t want to guilt anyone. I just want to get this out before it eats me up. Because it’s hurting so and I don’t know what else to do. Crying doesn’t seem to be enough. I can’t cry my heart out of my chest. It just doesn’t seem as if it’s there any more.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to feel.
I thought I could trust him.
It’s not like he needed coercing. I wasn’t the one who started talking about moving in together before Christmas. I didn’t drop hints while we were friends. I didn’t tell my parents I wouldn’t have to change my surname if we were married. I didn’t make him look into my eyes and tell me what he saw there. And I wasn’t the one who started that first kiss.
I don’t know what you want to hear from me. I’m sure you’re wishing that there was some happy ending to this post. Or even an ending at all. There will be an ending, I’m just not sure it will be a happy one.
This is possibly the longest life post I’ve written in a while. What can I say? Misery makes me more talkative on here.
Maybe it’s the fact that I saw them all together that hurts most. Maybe that’s it.
I have nothing left to give. The future I’d seen has been wiped back out and rewritten as empty and all the rest is dust.
I’ll leave you be a while, readers. I have to go try to eat sandwiches my anxious mum has made. I know she loves me and that the things she says are to try to help, but all I can think is that I should have seen it coming and I shouldn’t have been so stupid to let someone make me believe they loved me.
It’s all a lie. Every last bit.
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