Aishiteru

The last few months have been hell. I didn’t even realise how much I relied on my ex-boyfriend until we broke up. Now it’s all over, I feel…lifeless. Empty. Dead. But the days go by and I manage. It’s still a struggle though, to keep my head above the water, to keep going, to keep fighting against…well yes, against what exactly? The dreams, the memories, the constant feeling that something is missing, that something is gone? Fighting against the depression, the urge to give up, to let it all go, to drift into that familiar state where I don’t have to care about anything or anyone – not even myself. It’s easier to stop fighting and to just give in, but I can’t, I won’t. It’s just that well…I feel lost. So utterly and completely lost that I don’t know where to go but every road looks the same, dull and boring, and nothing is even remotely interesting. I’ve been through just about every post-break-up phase possibly, ranging from hysteria and cry-fests to not-caring, hatred and anger and every fucking thing in between.

I’ve hid myself in my room and stared at our picture for hours; I’ve gone out all night, gotten drunk and did all that stuff drunk people do; I’ve studied nights in a row because I couldn’t sleep at all. I remember packing my bags and planning to leave, actuallly leaving but then eventually returning; I’m nineteen: running isn’t an option anymore. I’ve done every possible thing I could think off to get over my ex-boyfriend, but I can’t. I can’t let it go. My mind is working against me. Every night, I keep running down the options: why did he do the things he did, why did I do the things I did, what the fuck happened to us? I mean: I remember us being happy, hell, I remember me being happier than I’ve been in years! The worst part is that I don’t know how to be happy again. There are shadows where there used to be only light. I’ve been whining about this to my friends for so long that I think I’m starting to annoy them. But I know why I can’t let go. Why I can’t just move on.

I don’t care anymore whatever it meant to him. To me, it was real, the real thing, real love, the sort of love you find once in a lifetime. The connection between souls where you feel what your partner feels before he even has to tell you. I’m not going to find that again and I don’t want to find it either. Because you know what it means when I let it go, when I give up and move on, when I stop missing him? It means it wasn’t real. It will completely ruin the fairytale-image I have of it. It will mean that it’s just another “simple” relationship, nothing special, nothing at all what I made from it. I’m an idiot for thinking like that, but it’s exactly how my brain works. If I get over it, if I let it go, then it wasn’t the real thing. And for some reason, I want it to have been real. I want all that pain and confusion to have had a purpose.

So, I went through finals. Failed a couple, had to do them again during summer. They won’t be good. I hardly care. University used to be everything to me. It used to mean the world. It was my goal, go to law school, become a lawyer. Fulfill your dream. It’s not my dream anymore. Or maybe it is, but I’m too busy trying to escape my pain to actually see it. It’s like I’ve put my life on hold until the pain is over. And I’m filling up the holes in my heart with new activities, with new hobbies, but I don’t have any room left for love. I don’t want to love anyone right now. I just want to keep busy until it’s all over, the pain, the hurt, the feeling of being betrayed. So next year, school-wise, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll try to study more, I’ll try to make it my dream again, but I don’t know if I can. I’ll try to learn from this experience and become a stonger person, but I’m afraid all it’s making me do, is caring less and less about people in general.

For those of you who are wondering, I haven’t heard from my ex-boyfriend in two, nearly three months. It’s been more than six months since we broke up. I should have been over him by now, but I’m not. Every bloody thing reminds me of him. I miss him and hell, I still love him. One day, all of that will dissapear. But that day is not today. Today I’m hurting my best friend because I cannot love anyone that special way anymore. Today I’m breaking someone else’s heart because mine is broken too. It sucks and I don’t want to do it, but I can’t love anyone (as in boyfriend-girlfriend love) until my heart is healed. It’s healing, I know, slowly, but I’ll get there. This time, I won’t run anyway. I’ll face my demon.

This post is directed towards the ex-girlfriend of one of my closest friends. She is not only one of the most annoying bitches I know, stalking my friend to the point she even sends him about 30 text messages a day although he ended their relationship approximately seven months ago, she can’t stand it when he talks to other people or even thinks about dating other girls.

In short, I think she’s a psycho bitch. I mean: I’ve read the text messages, I’ve read the mails, I’ve heard her on the telephone, my mate has called me when she suddenly arrived on his doorstep at 8 in the morning, without ever telling him she would show up. How the hell can you still classify any of those things as stuff a normal, sane person would do? Especially if it’s been seven bloody months!

Now, if he just broke up with you and you act a little freakish, then I’d get it. I mean, broken hearts do hurt. But honestly, can’t you just grow a little self-esteem, get a life and move on within the spawn of seven months? I don’t care that you still walk around with the teddybear he gave you, I don’t give a fuck if you still believe he is the love of your life and I couldn’t care less if it still makes you cry when he says you should leave him the fuck alone.

You want to know why I don’t care?

Because I think you’re freaking insane to spend this long obsessing over some dude who doesn’t want you anymore! Get over it already! He can’t be as perfect as you think he is, because he threats you like shit and doesn’t give a fuck about you. You are obsessing over the image you have in your mind, but that image is not real. The guy is ordinary, random, nothing to get so fucked up about. It makes me wonder if you really have no self-esteem what so ever, if you are so messed up and so weak that you want to lower yourself to the level of begging for him to take you back? He didn’t want you to begin with, but he sure as hell isn’t going to want you when you keep on begging and whining.

And then, on the mere occassions he does try to be friendly to you, you start getting pissed at him. Because he talks to his friends, because we sometimes laugh at you (hell, who wouldn’t?), because we’re cool and you’re not, because he likes going out and getting drunk and because he doesn’t want to come see you at the weekends. Of course the boy won’t do that! You scared him that much that he’s determined to stay as far away from you as possible. Oh, and all the text messages you sent involving so-called male friends who like you and give you presents or mysteriously kill themselves whenever it is convenient to you? Quit the crap. Even an idiot know you are simply playing the ho because you want your ex-boyfriend to get jealous; but your efforts simply make him think you’re pathetic.

But when he tells you to leave him alone because he’s at a restaurant having lunch with one of his closest friends, you still freak out, call about thirty times and sent approximately 50 text messages. I cannot help but wonder why. Do you really want to sound that pathetic, that needy and greedy, do you really think so low of yourself? It was because I felt sorry for you that I sent you that text message. Because I wanted you to grasp the fact that sometimes you have to let go, or you’ll destroy yourself. But I guess it was too late already.

All the thanks I got from my for my little word of advice, was a txt stating I am a bitch, should leave your boyfriend (wtf? dillusional!) alone, get out of his life, etc. Boy, did I want to give up on you right then. But I did this for the pride of the female race, because I don’t want us to look brainless and pathetic. So I told you to at least stop cutting yourself, go out with your friends and try to forget all about your ex-boyfriend because he’s not interested anyway. I tried to explain to you that there is more in life than a love lost.

Then I got accused of so many things that I am not even going to name them here. But one thing did struck me: you have had all those problems so you have the right to obsess over some kiddo who isn’t even worth obsessing about and you are so messed up inside all because of him? And I don’t know what it’s like to have issues because I have the perfect life? You, moron, don’t know a fuck about me. I know a hell of a lot more about you, because I’ve read it all. I’ve seen you develop from a jealous fucktard girlfriend (who he cheated on btw, yeh, grasp that, eh?) to a jealous fucktard non-girlfriend but obsessive stalker. I’ve seen you grow worse and worse over the months to the point you are now ready to enter an asylum, for all I care. But are you going to blame your downfall on the guy who wanted to let you of you before it was too late? Are you going to blame him for the fact you are a disgrace to the human race? Too weak to even take care of yourself? Too weak to even move on?

I don’t have a perfect life. Far from it. I have my own issues and troubles, but I’m never, never going to lower myself to your level and blame all of these issues on a guy. I’m never going to beg for love, because I already know that trick just doesn’t work. I find you pathetic and you have no one to blame for that but yourself. I’ve seen your picture and you’re not ugly, you can find yourself another guy who will give you the love and devotion you deserve, we all deserve. Then why do you want to hold on to something you can never get back? Why keep telling lies about how your friend kills himself, your other mate walked under a bus, your best friend got raped, etc. The pain you are feeling is no longer caused by this boy you obsess about, but by yourself. Even if he’d ever (he won’t though) take you back out of compassion or something, he will never love you and it won’t heal your pain. You have to do that on your own. But I fear for you, it’s already too late.

So yes, you can call me whatever you want, a whore, a slut, a bitch, and see if I care. I know you’re pathetic and I don’t even need to tell you.

Some stuff (no details) got me thinking today. To be honest, I feel sorry for my boyfriend. I come with an absolute fuckload of emotional garbage. I have been through so many phases in my life that it’s hard to keep track of it, even for me. I’ve been beaten down, got back up, screwed up myself, let go of nearly all my principles, crawled my way back up into life, etc. I have so many fears when it comes to love and devotion that it messes me up completely. I’m sorry, but if you choose to love me, you do not have an easy path ahead.

Emotionally, I’m a nutcase. I go from happy to sad in a second, from normal to vicious in a millisecond and from angry to freaked out in the blink of an eye. Sometimes I don’t even have a real reason for my mood swings, at least not any that sounds reasonable and normal. I have issues devoting myself to someone, trusting someone enough to give them my heart, and even when I do so, I am very likely to cheat on them whenever something goes wrong.

I do not believe one can love more than one person at once, yet I’ve had this nasty habit of having several boyfriends at a time. I went through times when I had no respect at all, not for anyone else, nor for myself or my body. I date boys, tell them I care, then go and ignore their phone calls for weeks until they finally give up or I decide to ‘officially’ dump them, just to get rid of them. I have so many issues being emotionally attached to anything, ranging from a pet to another human being, that I’ve tried to give it up all together for many times.

I learnt how to hide my feelings, how to hide my pain, my anger, until the point that it boils up deep inside to eventually burst out in an explosion of rage. I hit the mirror until it broke, because I could not stand looking at myself and the monster I had become. Grotesque, emotionless, weak, empty. Then I learnt to punch the wall rather than cut myself, decided suicide is never a solution, not even when your mind plays the craziest and most horrid games with you. I learnt how to put all of them things aside and focus on more urgent, important matters, such as studying and becoming something in life.

But hardly anyone knows what I really, really want to do.

I want to run. I want to run until I reach the horizon, and even then keep on running, until the sweat drops down my body and I am too exhausted to even move. I want to run to Paris, to Rome, to London, swim across the ocean if I have to. I want to see the world, because I cannot stand seeing this goddamned forsaken place anymore, all them familiar faces of people I once knew but never really wanted to know, all them painful mermories burried in a hole of six foot deep, all the failures and mistakes I made. I want to run away. Unfortunately there is no place where pain cannot catch up with you. It always catches up, in the long run.

You see, lots of emotional garbage. You don’t want to love. Hell, you don’t even want to befriend me. The only reasons I have friends is because they don’t know who I am, who I really am. Sure I can put up my mask for a while, but that doesn’t change who I am underneat. Sure you can like me because I am cheery and enthusiastic, as long as you ignore the bored look in my eyes and the irriation in my voice. Sure if you barely met me, you can’t know. You can’t possibly know about the insomnia, about the buckload of guilt, about the sorrows and the razor-sharp pain, about the lies and the anger. The anger might be the strongest and the worst. Its inevitable. It’s about to break loose. It always is.

To make a long story short; my dearest boyfriend, I don’t know why you want to be with me. Why you want to get to know me, why you want to open that closet of deeply hidden secrets, why you want to dig up corpses on the cemetery that is my soul? Sometimes I think that is the only reason why you are doing it; because you are drawn to my pain, to my screwed up mind. That would end as soon as you dive into it, trust me. My mind is too wicked, even for you.

It keeps me puzzled though. It amazes me, why you would even try. But I never lied to you, so I suspect you are sort of up for the task, although you can’t really know what that means. You know you’re in for one hell of a ride, but still you hold on and claim you’ll be able to do it.

You surprise me every day.