I feel like I’m living in a body that has to constantly remind itself that it’s okay. Like I’m in the emergency room and the doctor keeps pointing at his pain chart from 1 to 10 with 10 being the worst pain ever and all I can do is flash him double hands over and over again — 10, 10, 10! And you did this to me. You never gave me a chance to be able to breathe on my own. There were no gradual steps to this ending. You just let me fall.
Prematurely developed lungs were your gifts to me after two years. I am unable to breathe deeply or involuntarily. You took my breath away, but not in the good way. You stole that ability and it pisses me off so much I want to scream. But you’ve made me silent… everywhere but on the inside.
The inside is loudly busy always turning, mixing acid with an empty stomach because I can’t eat much. My heart burns so much that my skins gets goosebumps from the panic within it. I feel nauseated when I remember that you can move on to another girl so fast after claiming to me that you shouldn’t be with anyone. You said you were lost and I could see it because we were going in circles, ending up nowhere. We were lost, but yet you were always so much farther gone than me. I wanted to give you that space because it was the only thing I hadn’t tried yet.
I know nothing is perfect, but damn it, I tried. Every damn day, I tried to be what you needed, what I thought you wanted. I gave you everything I had from energy, to prayers at night, to promises of a lifetime. So even though we were lost and you were too far gone deep down, I tried to give and give and fill and fill.
I saw your smile every once in awhile and it gave me hope. Hope that you were still in there somewhere, trying to heal yourself to be able to make us better again. But it was the deceiving kind of hope. You were trying for no one but you. So when you told me that you shouldn’t be with anyone, I believed you because I had nothing left to try. You already had my everything.
I just wish you would have known enough not to betray what we both know you needed – some time alone to find yourself, to find your true set of beliefs, and to do the hard work that is building yourself into someone who can give and give to someone else eventually. You’re not ready now. You know that too.
I’ve been trying to suck air into my lungs long enough to properly ventilate my brain so it can take over my heart’s feelings and tell the love I still have for you that it’s wrong. That I don’t have to love you anymore. That I don’t want to love you anymore.
I don’t want to because you left me with nothing but anxiety.
But yet here I lie, once again, by myself instructing my lungs to breathe and telling my stomach that everything will get better. Give it time. Stay busy. Be out of town. Read a book. Stay at work longer. Take on more. Write it out. Focus on me.
But no one understands, I can’t breathe.