They say that when a relationship ends it’s like a death. I’d say that’s very accurate. A relationship I had with someone who was very important to me ended recently, and I am deep in the dark hole of dealing with that. I haven’t eaten or showered in days, my apartment is a mess, all I can do is sleep and be thankful for my dog, otherwise I don’t know how much worse it could be.
The worst part of all of this though, is knowing I brought it on myself. That it wasn’t her fault, that I push people to this point with my anger issues that are only worsened by other problems. I’ve never cared before. Never about a friend. If I lost a friend I always just stopped caring.
But rightly or wrongly, and for many reasons, this feels like I’ve broken up with someone. That I’ve become the kind of person that chases away with anger and jealousy the person that they love so very much. I never knew myself to be that person and now I do. It is a hard reality to face.
But it is a reality I have to accept. Because while she’s not dead, thank gods, she might as well be. At first I was angry. How dare anyone ask me to change, not accept me for who I am. But I quickly realized that’s not fair. No one is obligated to take what can only be called abuse in the name of ‘being oneself’. And if all this anger is who I am, maybe that *does* need to change.
And now I find myself deep, deep in the bargaining stage, wanting to beg, to plead, to promise anything, just to get her back. Anything. But that’s not fair either, that’s just another burden for both of us, but boy is it hard to resist. Incredibly painfully hard.
I am doing the things I need to do because of this. I’ve got an appointment with a counsellor lined up, for real, willingly, for the first time in a decade. That is a good thing. But the mind plays mean tricks on you, by giving you hope. Hope that the phone will ring, hope that she’ll knock on your door, when you know these things are as impossible as if you were mourning a death. It’s simply not going to happen. Because of me, because I put myself here. If we’re to continue to abuse the death metaphor, it’s as if she’s dead and I’m the one who killed her.
I don’t know how a person can ever accept that.