Sometimes I really wish I could just have a realization that he didn't love me. Sometimes that's the subtext and it fits, but then I rewind the tape further and find myself more confused - if that wasn't love, then what is? And then I find myself scared because I don't know what the fuck love is. I know that I think I still have it for someone who I think didn't have it for me. At best, liked some aspect of my company, but not my heart. Couldn't have liked my heart, or he would've been careful in how he let it down.
Sometimes that all feels very true to me. Then I get scared if I believe it, I won't know how to move forward. I already don't know how to move forward. My heart is frozen in place. Memories playing as a montage, interrupting my thought. I'm constantly asking myself: how did he just let that all go? How did every one of these million little moments just disappear from him while they haunt me?
Sometimes I get so confused, reconciling the truest moments of him, to the ending; the kindness of the person I knew, with the cruelty of how he treated me after. Which one is true? Because they're incongruent, they can't both be true. I see these little flashes of who I thought I knew as him; the deepest place in him, the core shining through the cracks at the surface. I loved that core. I've truly never loved someone like that. And it was found worthless. Disposable. Meaningless.
No wonder my depression morphed: The very best thing I thought one could offer to another in this life, didn't actually matter. And I didn't know it, I thought it was all that truly mattered, to love and be loved deeply. It's terrifying that I thought I was loved and thought the love I gave was significant, but neither seem true anymore. As time passes and I'm still trapped in the mystery, the cognitive dissonance is too strong – I can't believe that it was ever real. It feels like it was a dream I had.
Now I hold myself in without even trying. I keep me from being touched. I have no desire to be open. It feels as though I might disintegrate, if I ever dare to love again and still only lose; if I let myself be seen to my depths, only to be unwanted. The pain of that is still so heavy, I find myself amazed I've survived it this long.
