i was told by everyone that it gets easier. every day it gets easier. but you have to go through it every day. that's the hard part. but it can only get easier.
i had kept thinking and wishing it would pass. why did it feel like it was festering instead?
i'm so tired of keeping people at arm's length;
i'm so afraid of being asked something like:
"how are you today?"
because the last thing you want to tell someone is the fact that you had just been horizontal for the most part of the day, staring at the wall for two hours, too mentally, physically, emotionally exhausted from barely eating anything at all, from putting up a front at work, at home, at play, from having a heavy bouts of crying pencilled into your schedule at night, from spending the days wishing you hadn't woken up instead, from taking accounts of all the pieces in your life that had crumbled beyond repair, because you were barely getting any sleep the past two months, because you couldn't help but to conjure all the flashbacks every time you close your eyes, only to realize in the morning you had passed out from the subsequent panic attack, and your antidepressants are the only thing that could barely get you through the day without crumpling up into a crying blob.
i was less than fine.
so i just made up stuff and steered the conversation away. i don't mean to diminish the kind concern— but it's so easy to peek back into my life, and see nothing but a smiling face social networks have diluted everyone to believe in. every day is a constant struggle to be real in my highlight reel.
regardless of what decision i was going to make, i had always thought i would lose either way. being the clingiest i am, whether in nuance of a moment or maybe even a big life altering decision, i can never imagine myself going through all alone. but along the way i learn that what's worse than being all alone is actually being with someone who makes you feel all alone. when the only way is through, you will, without fail, learn a way to ease the loneliness along the way of the tunnel. and if the scar is so deep, so was the love. so be it.
and that's what happens, you know? the hole in your heart becomes a part of you. and then eventually, you die and become a hole in the heart of every person who loves you too. the absence still lingers— even until now. but the days i cry i'm grateful to remember the love at all.