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House of Flying Daggers

Farewell, torn from my heart

I don't know what to say. I know I need to say or do something, but I feel immobilized. This is beyond strange. In the past, when severe trauma occurs in my life, I usually react emotionally. I sob uncontrollably, I try to commit suicide, I feel extreme desolation, anger, hatred, sorrow.... and I did feel those things last night, for a time. But I woke up today and felt.... nothing. Nothing. This is not in my character. Maybe this is what he feels like when he dissociates. Maybe I am finally getting what I have always desired - the ability to kill my feelings. I cannot say that it is a pleasant feeling, because.... I don't feel anything about it. My lack of feelings, I mean. Through out the day, I've had brief moments of what I can only describe as absolute insanity, which alarmed me a bit.... I don't know how to describe it accurately. My thoughts were disorganized, I was trying to grasp at strands of coherent thought and felt them slipping through the fingers of my mind. Strange. 
I don't dream anymore. I've said this before. But, last night, while I was fucked up on morphine and wine, I fell asleep and had a very vivid and unwelcome dream. I had all of these images of us together, touching each other, my fingers running gently down his neck, beginning to flash in my mind, and then I woke up instantly. Wide awake, shaking, cold and hot at the same time. It is cruel, that I should have to suffer such agony and torment while I am awake, only to have my dreams taunt and toture me as well. Thank god for seroquel. To wake up alone, after sleeping next to the person you are in love with for so long, is to wake up from a nightmare into a nightmare. A nightmare that will never end.
I can't stop thinking about how he discarded me. Used me and dumped me, like trash. And I allowed it to happen. I didn't listen to my mother, who has always been right about every person I've loved, and I didn't listen to my past experience, my gut instincts. Everyone told me he was bad for me, that he preyed upon vulnerable women who just wanted to be loved. Everyone except Matt, who probably didn't give a shit who I was with. But I saw past his callous exterior and loved him anyway. I saw the person he could be and chose to love him. Robert. The real one, not the face that he showed to the world.
If there's anything I've learned in my young, yet somehow long and chaotic life, it's that love will never be enough. And there is no point in wishing that it was not so. 
I hate remembering, I hate these images flashing in my mind, strobing out of control. Seeing him for the first time, wishing I could be with him. Him holding me in the pool at his apartment. The first time I told him I loved him. All the cold nights we shared on his balcony. The feel of his lips against mine, how they would stick together ever so gently when we finally pulled apart. How I was finally able to sleep again, next to the warmth of his body. Having small but exciting adventures in the park. Breaking into that hotel... or was it something else? Doesn't matter. He took pictures of Ashlynn there. Then he fucked her. I would do well to remember that. 
The curls in his hair. One brown eye, one green. Every night that he helped me fall asleep with his words and his touch. The softness of his skin. How he touched me with what I thought was love. How he complimented me with what I thought was adoration and admiration. That's why I trusted him when he said he loved me. That's why I believed him when he said he wanted me with him. Now I know.... I was just convenient. Convenient sex, convenient company, convenient mobility. He never thought I was worthy of his love. Maybe I never did, either. But I dreamt of a life together.... where we both were happy, and healthy, and fulfilled in each other. I even imagined what our children could have been like. Dreams are poison.
I'm tired of this. How could he have the audacity to ask me not to kill myself, after treating me like I meant less than nothing to him in the end? No.... that can't be true. He must have loved me. He cried. He never cries. I'll always remember that. And I'll always remember how coldly he told me to get out. He threw away the greatest love. And he'll forget. They always forget. I never will.
I answered the phone today. That was strange. I never answer the phone. It was a bill collector. That is....monumental, I suppose. I was calm and polite, although depressed. I'm actually, in a strange way, proud of myself for doing so. Before, I had always ignored them, or asked Matt to talk to them. I'm not sure what to make of this. She cajoled me like a little child. What a bitch. I was even compassioante and understanding with her, and she treated me like I was 10 years old. God..... I don't know if I'll ever stop hating all these fucking assholes. Oh well. Maybe this means that I'm stronger. Or maybe it means that I truly do not give a fuck about anything, anymore. I hope for the latter, for that means that I can have a swift death, and succumb to true and final peace.
It was always too late. Always has been, always will be... too late.
As soon as I can, I'm leaving here. I can't be here anymore. Maybe, in some place beautiful and green and new, I'll be able to forget that I once believed in true love, with him.
I know, beneath all this suffering, only one thing for sure. I loved him. I worshipped him. I gave all of myself, and now I have nothing. I may hate him later, or never. But I want him to be happy, because I am NOT TOXIC. I am loving, and compassionate, and understanding, and I refuse to let his treatment of me turn me into a monster. Not again. Not EVER AGAIN. I will never forget how he caused me to believe in love again.... but now I am more broken than before, and I have nothing, nothing at all left to give. And I will always love and miss him. There will always be a hole, an emptiness in my heart where I carved out a place for him to live.
And I won't do it again. I will dream of it, and maybe even wish for it, but I will never let this happen to me again.