Another night I’ll fall asleep alone. Tonight I don’t even know if you’re alive and what hurts the most is I don’t know, if I haven’t lost you, if you’re trying to find your way back to me, too. Or if I’m the only one kept up, dialing numbers of places 9,000 miles away to try to find you and crying until my eyes are too worn out to stay open any longer.
Another night I’ll fall asleep alone. And this time I don’t know if this is how it’ll always be, or if I’m hugging my pillow pretending it’s you, telling you to never go anywhere; for nothing.
I would rather die than live without you.
I suppose I just wasn’t enough to save you, not enough. Never enough.
“Our love is so strong”.
Did I destroy you instead?
I hope we never get like that, you and I, where when our children go to show us something they love we’re more concerned about knowing what’s going on in the television program we’re watching so we don’t pay as much attention.
I hope we never sit on opposite sides of the room when we watch something.
… I hope we never forget our children are watching us and are learning what love is, all sorts of it. And that when they see us curled up on the couch, still playfully kissing and whispering in each others ears that they hope for nothing more than to have what we have some day, because if they’re anything like their mum (mom); they’re going to deserve every ounce of it.
This loneliness kills me.
The body image is getting so bad, again. It’s starting to take me an hour to choose an outfit again and I can’t look at myself when I get in and out of the shower. Loose jumpers to hide the fat, feeling constricted in jeans, in dresses… in nothing. Even my fingers look too fat in photos. Hips too wide, legs too thick, arms… i can’t keep them by my sides without feeling disgusting. I keep telling myself it’ll go away, but it doesn’t.
I know it’s not her fault, but why did my mum have to say it? It ruined so much hard work.
You’re making me feel like I did something wrong.
Please don’t make me feel guilty for being hurt, that just makes me believe even more that you think it’s my fault I’m this way.
I can’t breathe. I can’t.