You broke me. Yes, you. I wasn't broken by a past love like you were. I damaged myself plenty as time went on, but you're the one who really broke me. And I don't know if this is something that it's even possible to fix. Time heals all wounds, they say, and everyone who's had a broken heart has doubted it. But it's not my heart that you broke this time, it's me.
Two months ago, at this time, I was in a hotel and I was okay. Maybe I wasn't ecstatic, but at the very least, I was alright. How much can change in just twenty four hours? You tell me. I don't know what changed, I don't know what pushed on that ledge and I don't know what I said or did. But when I called you in the parking lot of a Dairy Queen and I didn't know if you would still be there to pick up, you broke me.
I've known fear. I've known panic. Look back at February if you need examples of those. But I'd never really seen desperation. I got to know it pretty well that night. I cried. I cried and I shook when you first told me, and when I couldn't tell you not to, and when I asked you to wait, and when I had to say goodbye, and when I knew I wouldn't be back in time to see you again, and when I picked up that phone and waited for the longest instants of my life to see if you would pick up. I have never cried that much in my life. Not before then, not since then.
I never feared death. It was natural. Something that just happened sometimes. It was a fascination, something my mind toyed with. But you ruined it for me. I can't hear about it, I can't see it, I can't even think about it without crying. I can't deal with it. And that's not your fault. You're just the unlucky one who made me realize this.
I don't want to talk about it because I have nothing to say. Sometimes I'm not okay and sometimes it's because you broke me. I don't know how to fix it and I'm okay with it as is, but sometimes I just need you to promise me that you'll still be here, that I won't have to cry that much every day because you're not. Even though I don't bring it up, I'm not over it. I'm not okay with it. I don't understand it. I still need to try to write about it because how else am I supposed to deal with things like that?
My dog is five and a half years old in three days. That might still give me a decade, most of which I'll be absent for, but one day he'll die. And how am I supposed to be okay with it? I'm scared of coming home one day to my fish being dead, not to mention my dog. I'm so absolutely terrified of death and I can't make it go away. I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with it. I don't know how it's supposed to be okay.
I don't know how, when in twenty four hours, everything goes from being absolutely fine to almost over. What would have happened if I hadn't asked or if I hadn't called? I am a morbid thinker, I want to know these things. How do I fix myself when I don't know what went wrong in the first place? How do I do the job of a scientist and discover what interactions occurred, how x and y triggered a and b, when I'm part of it and the rest is something that isn't me, that I can't know or understand?
I'm afraid of having to say goodbye because I always grip too tightly, I never know how to let go. And even now, when it is nothing more than a fading memory that will long outlive its significance in my mind, I can't put it out of mind. I am afraid.
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