Though I thought my first post was more than sufficient, and love the cliffhanger, albeit clichéd ending of my preceding post, because writing is the only thing taking my mind of the all-consuming excruciation that is heartbreak, I’m back at it again.
This is, afterall, the chronicles of a breakup, so might as well maintain truthful.
Anyway, after a really relaxing 20 minutes of crying in the bath, I’ve decided to pour myself another glass of wine and continue on.
New developments include: I now have to refer to who I thought was the love of my life as my “ex”, which is a word that I formerly only associated with pot-dealing pizza delivery boys. Also, I’m currently on his Netflix plan so can I at least maintain an account holder for the next 6 or so months because I am going to need a lottttt of Gossip Girl to get through this.
I tried eating and my stomach revolted the lukewarm pasta like it was rat poison in rock form, (is that even how that comes? It’s like the one drug I didn’t do in college). Wine for dinner it is.
There are a lot of things hitting me right now that, again, are actually too painful to type, (because that seemingly makes it more real), and I’m having a hard time not calling him.
Three years of being each other’s “person”. He was who I called when I felt any type of anything before this, and now, at the very worst I’ve ever felt in my life, he’s suddenly unavailable. I’d say that’s the worst part, but I discover a new worst part every few minutes.
Sitting here now I realize every fucking part of this is the worst part, in it’s own way.
And with this, maybe I should stop for tonight because what at first felt therapeutic now feels more painful than anything.