It was bound to happen. Inevitable, but nonetheless upsetting.
WB decided he was either too jealous or too stupid to try to restart a relationship with me. As much as it hurt to lose him, it hurts more that he thinks the worst of me, when I worked so hard to show him my best.
I can’t change it, and it’s most likely for the best. But I can’t shake the feeling that he attempted suicide again (if he didn’t succeed in his attempt). I have no proof. He wouldn’t respond if I tried anyway. So I will never know what has happened to him. That hurts too.
The last week, I have wanted to cut so many times! I have been able to talk myself out of it each time. Though, I’m not entirely sure it’s a good idea NOT to cut. At least I’d have a release. A closure of sorts. New scars make very little difference when you slice your skin on a regular basis. But the quick sting helps me let go. I’m unsure if I feel very little because we weren’t supposed to be together. If perhaps it hasn’t sunk in yet. Or maybe it doesn’t hurt as much, because I am not punishing myself for it.
I still have all the momentos. I tried to delete the one picture I took of him, but just could not bring myself to do it. Looking at his real, genuine smile, knowing I gave him that happiness…I don’t want that memory gone. I have the jewelry, though wearing it is rather bittersweet. The bracelet has signifigance that no one else realizes. The ring still symbolizes a separation we can’t cross.
I have fought myself so hard to avoid the obituaries in his area. I’m afraid I will find his name listed there. I blocked him from my fb page. He admitted to stalking me there before. And I know he can always start a new page and stalk me that way. But I hope he won’t torture himself like that.
I can’t make decisions for him. I tried to be supportive. Showed him my new approach to my problems, with the hope that he would get inspired. I gave him the love I could. I simply wasn’t good enough. And this is where the dark thoughts breed. If I wasn’t good enough for him, what does that make me? Trash? Dirt? Scum? Whatever it makes me, I am no less insignificant. And that…is where the cutting thoughts come from.
If I can hurt then at least I am human. If I don’t cry out, I am strong. And the scars will remind me how I was tested, and survived. But holding the blade, making that choice, bleeding and hurting….I deserve it. I deserve to be hurt. I deserve to know that I am horrible. I deserve the release. It confuses me. It’s like both sides of me are crying out for blood.
The first time around, I cut often. I cut when I thought of him. I cut when I couldn’t cry for the loss. I cut hoping my blood would somehow take away the thoughts of him.
Now, I am working hard not to cut. Now I am trying to correct my thinking. I think that shows growth. And I don’t ever want to go back to the other way of thinking.
Fool me once, shame on you….but I learned better. And now it doesn’t hurt as much the second time.