The definition of heartbreak

 All I ever did was love him. And all I ever wanted was for him to love me too, the way he said he did.

But here I am years later, still waiting. Still doing the same things over and over. Never making changes. 

Waiting to be told that I matter, asking to be told I matter, never being told I matter. 

And all I hear is that deathly darkness calling me again.
Telling me I definitely don't matter. 

The Definition of Me (Part 2)... or, The Definition of Devastation

you say i should be over it. but it’s not fair to say i should be over it. it was 8 months when you said that. that’s hardly any time at all when you loved someone. and maybe it was easy for you, but i think that’s cuz you never even loved me in the first place. or that you were just over me way before it all ended anyway. and it’s not fair to say i should be over you when how do you expect me to? 8 months of lovebomb, devalue, discard. (not counting the 9 before that) 8 months of missing me, loving me - you told me that several times. why? - of being lovey, pretending to be different. being the fucking same over and over and over and over.

and every time i would move on, you’d come back. and i’d take you back. into my life and into my heart. trying to get back what you pretended to be. what you pretended to feel. what you probably never felt in the first place.

10 months later. 2 months after the last words. you come back. with a girl. a group of friends. you fucking wink at me. then pretend you care about my uncomfortability. you have taken everything i love from me. the places. the people. myself.

i’m not the drunk, bitter, fat girl you said i was.

i’m fucking heartbroken.

The Definition of My Daily Burden

**I know people will worry when they read this. I'd like to say that I have no current plan to kill myself. Please don't freak out or commit me.**


they always say how they wanted to kill themselves and no one knew.
maybe that was true, at one point for me.
but how could you not know?
like, how could you possibly not know?
i want to tell people. i want it to be a part of me. It is a part of me. But a part that no one is allowed to know.
Because that would be weird. Strange. Awkward. Freaky.
I’d be judged. people wouldn't get it. They'd judge. I’d be that girl.
Things would invariably change. You would never view me the same way.
Think of it. Think of me. What else do you see? The same person, yes? But you'll never forget. And if you're one of those people, you'll judge. You'd never understand.
The pain. The sorrow. The loneliness. The utter desperation of being alone and devastated and never seeing any way out.
The constant desire to achieve an end to all your pain. The daily urge - that’s not the right word. it’s not strong enough - to end it all. It would be so easy. All I have to do is jump off the bridge. I think about it all the time. I know someday I will. I know it in my heart. Each day until then is a reprieve. No. That’s not right. Each day is a burden. Each day is just another day in the way of the end goal.
I will kill myself eventually. I know I will. I will probably jump off the bridge. I can’t see any way out.

The Definition of Me (Part 1)

I've been struggling for a really long time. When they ask me how long, I give out this sort of weird laugh and say “Forever?” Like I don’t have the answer to that question because I don’t actually know myself. And you can read that last part two ways. I don’t actually know myself.
Who am I? What is the purpose of it all? What is the purpose of me? Existential crisis ensue. Is it an existential crisis if being that way actually defines your existence? I’ve been this way as long as I can remember.
I’ve got this slew of mental health issues. Diagnoses that define me. That don’t, but really they do. Cuz there’s a name for it when you can’t handle life. When everything means you're worthless and there’s no point to your life. Everything is another disaster. Waiting to happen, in progress, or a disaster that has led to a bunch of other disasters and to you ultimately hating yourself and wishing it was over and pretty much just falling off the deep end every time.

That's me. On the borderline.

The Definition of Desperation

I was thinking earlier, on my drive home, about how I wished I had jumped off the bridge. And not necessarily die, but that maybe the act would spark some big change. Within me. Or with him. Or that if it wouldn't do either of these, then I’d just be dead and not have to worry about it at all. Which doesn't even make sense because if I was dead it wouldn't change anything within me. And how would I know if it changed anything with him? The logic is completely missing, but that doesn't matter.

It’s not a cry for help. It’s desperation. Maybe give it one more try to see if people care. A lot of times it feels like people don’t care. And they hurt you. So you want to hurt them back. Or make them care. See if they really do, and if they do, then life is worth living. And if they don’t, then you have your answer. It isn't worth it if you're all alone. And when you're messed up, sometimes it’s that one person's attention you want. It’s the only one that matters. And if you don't have that, you have nothing.

Life is fucking hard, man.

The Definition of Perfection

It was decided that night that we would be. We had to be.
For a while he was mine and no one else's.
It was just us.
When we met by chance.
Or with a few words.
Or an invitation tossed through the open window. A peak outside to find him looking up. That smile that said, Let's go. I have a plan. I have a surprise. I have you and you have me. In this moment, if no other. This is the only thing that matters. Right now.
The world would fall away and we would begin. Us alone until dawn. Until there was no choice but for it to end.
Because there was a girl waiting at home. Who swore we were more than. I didn't know she was right. I didn't know you can be more without being more.
The closest we ever got was never enough. A long goodbye on the edge of a fall to something more.
We never jumped off.
But, inside, I fell every time.
The end that night, on the edge of the fall, was it.
Only a brief word, once, after.
Because how can you continue when it's over.
If you did, it wouldn't be perfect.
It has to be left behind. It has to stay like it was.
Taken to the edge. But never over.

The Definition of Belief

Thinking back on it, now, the main thing that comes to mind is how goddamn hot he was. Not the fact that even after he made the effort to get me because it was him who wanted me, he acted like he was doing me a favor. Complaining about how far it was to mine.
It isn't the fact that it was terrible.
It isn't the fact that he was cheating on his girlfriend with me. Something I only found out about later, when I asked a friend why Paul was friends online with everyone but me.
It isn't the fact that he told me to friend him that day I ran into him in my neighborhood. That he insisted he would accept this time, even after I told him he was an asshole for not accepting me before. Only to once more be ignored.
It isn't the holding his coat in the club only to be ditched and waiting.
It isn't the walking by me hand in hand with his girlfriend only to give me a curt nod and pinched smile. A look of ohpleasegoddon'ttellherifuckedyou on his ugly face.
It isn't the fact that he hit on me every time I saw him and somehow convinced me he wasn't really an asshole after all.
It isn't that he treated me like shit.
It's that he was really goddamn hot.