Monday, December 7, 2009

Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas

I had intended on writing a different blog today. About how the boyfriend's birthday was yesterday, and that makes him 24 while I'm still 23... about other happy things too. But there's been a change of plans.

For the past few years, I've always been weary around the holidays. It seems my luck with the holidays are never pleasant. Breakups - both boyfriends and friends - seem to find December as the ideal place to occur. Last year, nothing bad happened, and I thought I had finally gotten out of the rut.

I woke up today to find Jeremiah cleaning up a bit. I assumed he was just helping out a little. But then I noticed a few of his storage boxes were gone. When I asked about them, he told me he was moving his stuff back to his parents. I left the room. Started to cry. I couldn't ask anything further, because I immediately thought the worst, but kept trying to calm myself down. I told myself he was sick of the messy room and would move the stuff back once we finished cleaning. Once I had that in my head, I calmed down enough to come back upstairs to ask further questions. I was wrong.

He felt that he's spent the last four and a half years content with nothing. But at the same time, he knew he shouldn't be. Most of the time he had no job, and played on the computer every day. He was frustrated at himself for being content. He feels like a failure, and thinks the only way he can get over this stage is by doing a complete "reset". Taking away everything. Including me.

He said he still cares about me, and that he feels horrible for not being a good boyfriend to me. That he felt like he was neglecting me, and knew he hadn't done anything to change it, because he's stuck with being content. He left.

I feel like a part of me has been ripped out, that it won't ever heal, and all I want to do about it is curl up in a ball to die.When my life felt like it couldn't get any worse, I had a life preserver right there to keep me up. He was my light. When I thought about killing myself, I always decided I wouldn't. I didn't have to, because I still had him. Even if I fucked everything else up in my life, I still had him. So I couldn't have done everything wrong, right? I still had him. And now I don't.

My birthday is the 17th. I had been looking forward to spending the day with him.

I don't know what to do. Part of me is in the worst pain of my life, while the other part is completely numb.

I understand everything he told me. I'd begun to suspect that he might choose this path sooner or later. But instead of thinking further down that path, I chose the selfish route, and chose to keep him for as long as he'd stay.

I drew him in to the family picture. The one that was printed on to all the Christmas Cards. The one that was just sent out to the entire family. It's hard to believe he's gone. I had always pictured being with him for the rest of my life.

I feel like it's my fault. That I'm the reason he was content. I'm a fuck up, and I was bringing him down with me. And now I'[m paying the price for it.

Nobody's home right now. In a way it's a good thing, because then I don't have to feel embarrassed or they don't have to feel awkward while I'm balling my eyes out. But part of me wishes someone was. I might not be crying so much if someone was home. I tried calling some people, but no one's home. They're all at work.

I am alone.

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