Broken Up · Creative Writing · Depression · Healing · I Miss You · Melancholy · Personal · Poetry · Sadness · Writing

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I am still in love with you.

Most days.

Even when I hate you and I know we are no good for each other.

I go only short amounts of time before you pass through my thoughts again.

My heart breaks every time I read your words.

I want to write back.

I would send you a thousand lines of the love I have for you… but I know your time is fleeting.

And I spend countless days in recovery.

I want to see you and hold your hand.

I want to walk in the rain and shoot shotguns at the night sky wearing nothing but the bad attitude that clings to people like me and you.

But I know I can not have my heart broken again and I can’t help but think you may be my broken heart.

I have you always.

Pulsating in the cavern of my chest.

I have felt you a thousand years and back.

Do you feel me too?

I have always wondered.

Am I a play thing, a fantasy, a destiny?

I cry out at night.

I wake up and you are still not beside me.

My heart lingers of that place where maybe you once love me.

I walk away from you, a trail of crumbs to my heart.

Broken Up · Creative Writing · Free Write · I Miss You · Personal · Poetry · Reflection · Relationships · Writing

I Wish…

I wish you knew how much

I would like to speak with you.

I wish that I could say this

I wish you had not left me.

I wish none of it was true.


I hoped always for our future.

That you would find a way.

But you dragged me through your madness.

Yes you took me to out to play.


I want nothing more than to love you and

I would have seared this world.

Instead I burned on the cross.

I sat displayed for the crowd.


A mocking.

A joke.

Just like you always say,

I wished I was a treasure, like the broken records you would play.


I wished that you were only mine and 

that is the one piece that was never true.

I wished the mountains would rip apart 

to bring me back to you.


I wished on wishes and the stars

and blowing blossoms in the wind.

I wished for God to prove me wrong 

and for saving grace to win.


I hoped as lovers hope to make a life,

Find a path out of our sin.

If I could leave and never return

My wish would be to win. 

Anxiety · Broken Up · Depression · Emotional Abuse · Personal · Poetry · Psychological Abuse · Relationships · Writing

I Want to Hate You

I have spent months reading about your terribleness, your sickness and finding every reason to revel in my suffering and despise you.

But what I keep going back to is the image of you, late at night crying in my arms.

You grasping at your chest, filled with grief, eyes glossy and missing your father.


Watching you drink and cry at song lyrics. You played them over and over until they were set in me and the tears flow freely.

Your eyes were stars and I was always left gazing.


You are begging me not to leave you, not to give up on you…on us.

My heart breaks everyday for you and then slowly pieced back together with spite and anger.


I do it over and over.


I recall you leaving me in the middle of the night and going to jail.

Selling our belongings for a fix and trinkets always gone missing.


I remember the accusations of betrayal and infidelity and feeling so confused when you are on your knees telling me otherwise.


Oh, how I wanted to believe you.


I want to and I find myself in momentary but ever fluctuating  dissonance.


You told me, you promised I would.


If you truly love someone, you will hate them just as much. You will hate me one day. You really should.  

Broken Up · Creative Writing · Personal · Pondering · Prose · Relationships · Writing

A Story of Hate: Chapter 1

It has been only very recently, in the last two months, that I could refer to our relationship as abusive. That you abused me. I spent years explaining elaborate stories about how you were sick, you didn’t have a good childhood, your father was an alcoholic…all of this in my mind made it easier to accept how terrible you actually were to me.


Even in the beginning, in what could be called the “love bombing” stage, you were still terrible. We had to hide our relationship so people at work wouldn’t talk. It turns out, that was just so you could fuck other coworkers. I’m sure you told them that I was crazy, attached or that we were not really together.


You fed me constant half truths. Just enough to fill me momentarily. It became very difficult to expose lies because of this and you knew it. It’s why you did it. Even after you slept with Jan, you told me, “we got drunk and I spent the night, but nothing happened.” It felt wrong in my gut. But you were hoping it could excuse the awkwardness between us at work. I knew when I walked down the hall and she avoided my gaze that you were lying. She sat on the steps outside smoking and I walked up to her and asked if she had fun with you the other night. The look of pure shock across her face. I see her heart racing. Her friend runs inside. I make her admit everything to me. I don’t cry. I don’t say anything but “Thank you for telling me the truth.”


I told the boss I was leaving and I went home. Everything thing that was yours or that you had given me I took to the front of the house. I made a giant mud puddle and tore and smashed everything up and mixed it up. I cut cords. I snapped cds. I ripped up every letter. I threw all of it into my trunk and drove to your apartment. I tossed it all over the front lawn while the neighbors watched. I went to your door and rang the bell over and over until you woke up. I said, “You are a liar. Your shit is on the front lawn.”


This should have been the end of our story. 

Broken Up · Free Write · Letter · Personal · Prose · Relationships · Writing

Letter To “The Other Woman”

To The Other Woman,

You knew who I was, I think that’s what bothered me most. I know, I know, everyone tells me to blame the man, but I expected that from him. You, not so much.

You knew who I was and that we were together. You didn’t care.


I used to wonder why you married that asshole. The one that fucked everything that walked and had a vagina. I thought, you seemed so nice.Why would you be okay with that?

I was at your wedding. There are pictures of us arm in arm. We were not that close, so I wondered where all of your friends were. I only saw people from work and I assumed  family. I found this odd. So why? Why were things like this?


Did it make you feel better?

Did it make you feel justified?


I know you remember the day I confronted you in the car, please know I would do that again, but your chicken shit boyfriend did his best to keep me from ever seeing you again. And you apparently didn’t have the guts to face me either.


I assume he made me, and probably my family, out to be an enemy. People that did not care. People that indulged his addictions and were not actively trying to get him help. You must have known so much better. Did you fancy yourself his savior, with your education in psychology and coming from a “good family?”


I used to think that loving someone would be enough. I loved him and every single of his flaws. I loved him even in the depths of his sickness. I knew I could not change him. So I didn’t try. I wanted him to do it on his own. Turns out he needed more of a mommy, so he found one.


Congratulations. It’s a boy.


I hope you two are happy together. Because clearly from his multiple hospitalizations and relapses on heroin it must be going great. All part of the process you say?

All the things he is doing and saying with you were already done with me.


Him begging, “Please don’t give up on me. I’ll be good. I’m getting better. I’m going to do X,Y and Z…I love you.” He is shaking and crying and throwing up. Your heart breaks looking at this man you love. So you stay and you hold him. You tell him, “I’m here for you.”


Sound familiar? Get used to it. Every two to three months you will hear this same story. And you will believe it. Every time seems genuine, because in the moment it is. But just wait a few more weeks and you’ll get to relive it again. It becomes quite predictable. Which why I assume the year I told him “I will believe it when I see it. And I don’t care anymore,” he soon after decided to find someone new, you in fact. A person that was easy to turn, fresh and gullible, to believe all of his pain and suffering.


Believe me when I say, you are not special. Neither was I. This is what he does with women. We were just caring and loving enough to look the other way. To see good when all he showed was bad. I have to believe that. I have to believe that despite that fact that you are a selfish, adulterous bitch that didn’t care about hurting me, you must actually care about him. Why else would you do this? Or perhaps you are more fucked up then I could have ever imagined.


I hope you know that when all is said and done, I will be your best friend. I will be the only one that understands this insanity, his insanity. But please go a few more years. Oh and live together for 3 or 4 of those years like I did, then we will really have so, so much to talk about.


Sincerely,


The Ex