Of a grieving heart and a shattered dream

Notes on Grief:

It’s been months now. I’m stuck… or rather I didn’t Grief. I don’t know how to. In all my last relationships I avoided everything. Them. The feelings. Their friends. The environment. I did this thing. I avoid relationships until the next time I fall in love.

I’m trying to switch things up. See whether I choose, select or have a successful single phrase.

I hate the pain and knots in my chest. The tears don’t leave my eyes, throat so dry. My heart heavy and my breath short. I start to cry. Stop then cry again. I. I miss. I miss you. Maybe not you. The thought of you. The thought of us. I am grieving us. The future I believe we had. Believed. I’m a wreck.

Probably my anxious disorganized attachment style chooses you. Regardless I love you. Loved you. I wasn’t perfect. You were nowhere close to who you wished to be. You kept fighting my love. I kept begging for yours. Finally pride. Pride won. I got tired of the back and forth. I begged the heavens to let us be. You pulled Further. I came closer. I turned around. You came closer. Pride won. Yours. Mine. Our pride won.

A tarot babe said whenever I think of you. You think of me. Bullshit? No, lol. I need to believe you still care. You hold parts of me. Someone online mentioned that when you lose a goofy girl her memories will haunt you. I questioned how goofy I was. Was I goofy enough? I wish I had a signature scent, that way you’d get a sniff of it and remember me. But. Sometimes I loved the smell of the sun on my shirts. You smelled of a slow Monday morning. Of freshness. So divine. So lovely. I passed by your roll on the other day. I sniffed it. I cried. In the supermarket. I bought pads to cover it up. You know. Blame it on Madam Red. I eat your favourite fruit and claim I’m balancing my root chakra. As if I’m not a Taurus and that comes naturally.  Hey, earth gang! You made fun of us, astrology girlies.

I’ve learnt new recipes. I’ve learnt more comforting words. Shit, my head game is better. Again, you are missing out. I’ve been licking ice cream and sucking it up… proper practice if you ask me.

I think we were incomplete. Or not meant for each other. Wrong person, right time? Wrong time, wrong person. I’d say I didn’t know what love was. I still don’t, but my friends have been loving on me. Maybe I’m getting a glimpse of it. But. We both want very different things at different times. I had a lot to unlearn and a couple of things to Understand. You on the other hand…

For real though. As much as I miss you. I think it’s best we parted. The last message was me informing you, how badly things had gotten. You greyed it. I understand. No, I don’t… you couldn’t say a half-caring sorry. Things will be okay. I understand. I don’t. I’m deeply hurt. Lol. To open up and be ignored. To love and be rejected. To not know how to love. To want love. To not know how to receive it. To be too afraid to receive it. To feel undeserving, thus spending six months trying to prove you deserve the love. Fighting to be chosen. Accepted. Too anxious to accept affection. Too traumatized to think people like me deserve love.

I’m angry at me mostly. It’s part of the grief. I’m managing it. No, I’m not. I said that because it makes me feel like I have things in order. I don’t. I’m a mess. Haven’t been myself in a minute. sorted a couple of things to distract me. My heart locked away in a dark room. Someday, hopefully soon. I’ll take it out and be ready to pick up the pieces. Someday soon. I’ll grieve. Someday love will find me.

Mostly, I’m angry at myself. I should have left and stayed gone. I should have respected your decision. I should have known better. I badly wanted it to be you. To be us. To be chosen. I think you loving me would have meant I was deserving. I needed to feel deserving and wanted. I stayed. Hopefully, I’ll forgive myself for the betrayal. I’ll forgive myself for the hurt. Hopefully, I’ll learn to trust love again.

Anyway, I am hurt. I’m deep in grief. I miss love. I miss being held. I miss silly nothings. I miss the vulnerability of love and what love would do for me. What love does for me. I miss what love makes me do. I’d love to be loved. I don’t know whether grief is holding me back. Or I’m holding it. This grief is the only thing that connects me to you. I keep talking to you to remind myself of how it felt.

I just learnt to say I love you in your mother tongue.