Haunted Love.

Sod it. I feel like I’m choking on my heart. I have poetry screaming inside me, that I am too scared to put to paper… I’m afraid to open that door and let the words out, because a whole heap of crap will come out with them. I have too much pain and love and grief coursing through my veins right now, that I have to let it out. I have to be the most honest I’ve ever been about something. I have to risk the embarrassment, the shame, being vulnerable, because this is gnawing away at me more each day.

I love you. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks anymore. It means nothing. It’s irrelevant how I feel. I know that. But these are my feelings, and I do myself no favours in denying them. I shut them away for a long time. I stopped talking about you. I never stopped thinking about you. Not for a second. But I pretended it was no longer an issue. I still don’t talk about you, and I won’t. Because the second I do, I’ll be judged. I’ll be told to move on. I’ll be told it’s not real.

If it’s not real, then why the fuck does it hurt so much? I miss you so much. Afterwards, people said it must feel like a break-up (even knowing it was nothing like it!)… they recognised the feelings I was going through…. and I recall saying at the time it’s more than that. It was like you died. Because I knew I would never see you again in my lifetime. I knew your life would go on, so it felt like grieving for someone who was still alive. But in terms of my life, you did die.

Your memory speaks to me in my dreams. Your ghost even appeared to me the other day. And just as painfully that ghost disappeared, and I was reminded of your passing. Your ghost reminded me I haven’t grieved you. But I don’t want to grieve you. I don’t want to accept you’re gone forever. I don’t want life to be this way. I escape into my mind sometimes, where we can be together. And I’d much rather live there. You come to me in dreams, and I never want to wake up from them, yet a part of me forces myself awake, at the pain of realisation it’s only a dream. You’re gone. And I’m in pain because of it. What’s so wrong in admitting this? Why do I have to pretend it’s ‘not real’ in order to escape the embarrassment of actually experiencing such feelings? I was attracted to you in every single way possible. The first therapist to talk to me about it asked if I ‘fancied’ you. And whilst yes, I very much was attracted to you in that way, it was unbelievably so much more, and she cheapened it. From then on I felt stupid for how I felt about you. She compounded the problem.

I just got upset a moment ago, thinking about the way everything went…. wondering how different my life would be now if I had just kept it all to myself, pretending I felt nothing. What if I’d just dropped out of the group instead? My life hurtled out of control because of a stupid choice I made, and I couldn’t put the toothpaste back in the tube after that…. I had to just go with it. But it’s left me with such immense regret for my decisions. Opening up about all of this has been one of the hardest, shameful experiences of my life. I’ve felt pathetic. I’ve felt not ‘good enough’ to feel this way for you. I’ve felt hideous. Deluded. Ashamed. I feel embarrassed to talk about my feelings for you. My personal life is personal, and I’ve had to be very open about my lack of experience with such things. I don’t want people knowing the ways in which I think of you. I don’t want them pitying me. I don’t want them thinking I’m just fantasising or that I’m immature in my approach to feelings, and in my views of ‘love’.

Who is to say what ‘love’ really is.. what it means? Love is what you make of it at the time. Love is love. Sure I might meet somebody and fall in love with them, and realise that whenever I thought I was in love before, I was wrong… that this is real love. But something even stronger could come along after that….. it doesn’t mean I didn’t love before. Love changes. There isn’t one mould for love…. love isn’t something you achieve – it’s not something where you go ‘Aha! This is what love feels like! This is love, and anything before this was not love’. I used to believe that, but after meeting you I see love in a different way. There are also different kinds of love. Obviously this is unrequited love. This is ‘I love you even though I’m nothing to you’. Of course if I meet someone one day who loves me like I love them, that is what I will call real love.  But it’s a different love. It doesn’t mean the love I feel today didn’t exist. Love is an emotion. That is why I have to accept that I feel it towards you, because you can’t help how you feel. Obviously I’m not daft – the love I feel for you is different to the love your wife feels for you. I’m not totally insane, saying that ‘I love you more than anyone else ever could!’ – I have more sense than that. I try not to be too logical about how I’m feeling…. that would indicate that I think I stood a chance. I’m a dreamer – but I am a realist. I know the reality. I don’t need to get into the complexities of reality. But with the knowledge that my feelings of love are miniscule in the great scheme of things, I have to be true to how I personally feel, and accept that this is how I feel… as embarrassing as it may be. I’m working on it. I know I have to let go. I have to move on. But even though this was not any form of ‘relationship’ in the slightest, I have to allow myself to heal as though it was something. It takes me quite a time to recover from my feelings for men – I have such feelings so rarely – I become quite devoted in my affections and desires. I have to treat myself with the care I would in trying to overcome a break-up.

In some ways this is worse than a break-up, because a break-up would indicate you were together in the first place. You had your time. You had memories together. You had your shot, and in theory you could have that conversation to get some sort of closure. But with you and me, there was no ‘you and me’. There was no relationship. There was no time together, no memories. We didn’t ‘have our shot’. We didn’t have a conversation and closure, because the situation did not call for it, being a purely professional one.

This was nothing. I know that. I was reminded of that… that there’s no need for closure as nothing existed. I’m not stupid. I know I don’t deserve closure. I’ve had bad experiences in my past where I wasn’t given closure, and although this wasn’t a situation that warranted ‘closure’, it just would have been nice to be given a chance to heal those wounds from the past. To actually feel like things can be different, people can be wished well and given a chance to heal…. rather than everything always being left unfinished – wounds gaping open, and the world hurting.

I just feel so upset right now at the way things were handled. The scars I’m left with because of this, both physical and mental. And I feel doomed to experience the same pains over and over in my life, because not even fucking therapists want to help give me hope. Not even fucking therapists could see an opportunity to fix the broken bits of me… the bits that believe I’m not worth a conversation…. that people come and they just leave – leave my heart gashed open…. that I’m a burden. I feel so upset right now. I can’t stop crying, and all I want is for you to hold me and make it go away. But that never was, never will be, and I feel sick with myself for even wanting that. I feel like a bad person. But I just want you here.

 

I wish I’d never met you. Because living without you, having discovered you exist, it’s too much. If I close my eyes in the daytime, if I don’t think of you, all I see is destruction. It’s like everything else has died. Everything is dead. The only time I see light, is when I think of you. But that doesn’t last long… it turns to tears when I realise it’s all make-believe. Even you are dead in this world I’m living in, in reality.

 

I often try to think how to describe the pain I feel about all this…. it’s not easy. It’s like a pent-up scream…. like roaring in pain and sadness, but on the inside. If you externalised it, it would be just that – a noise. A very loud noise. But because it cannot be released vocally it sends painful waves throughout my body – you know that pulling in your chest when you hear something that breaks your heart? It’s like that, but through my whole body. It’s a heaviness. A depression. It travels straight to my eyes – sometimes I can cry, sometimes all I can do is stare blankly at the floor, feeling like I’ll explode from the grief. There is anger there, and I want to punch walls because of it. But it’s a lesser emotion. Sadness, grief, despair, hopelessness, heartache…. these are my emotions. And I’m not so good at coping with those emotions. They’re less reactive emotions, and more ruminative. I find it harder to pull myself out of these emotions… they paralyse me. It sometimes feels like someone is reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart and won’t let go – it feels like my heart stops beating, like it’s giving up… and I can’t breathe. I don’t even want to anymore. It’s in those moments I think ‘How am I ever going to carry on living with this pain, and you gone forever?’ That grasping of my heart, the despair of loss… it’s enough to make me not want to live anymore. In those moments I just want the world to end. If I can’t know you, and I can’t forget you, I can’t exist with the memory of you. It’s too much. It’s just too much.

 

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