The only thought that calms me is my own demise. Isn’t that a contradiction?

I had the picture perfect family growing up. Or so my mother wanted everyone to believe. To keep up this image of perfection, all the ‘bad things’ had to be pushed under the carpet. She damaged me at a young age by doing just that at a time I needed her the most. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother dearly. But her reaction to my situation was the opposite of what it should have been. I guess I should really start from when the repressed memory arose. During college I came to the realization that I was confused about my sexuality. I had a few couples that wanted to experiment with me. This was just one of the several unhealthy acts I gave into during my higher education. Drugs, promiscuity, and just a general disregard for life. In essence, I wanted to die and I tried to kill myself by driving drunk at 4am on an empty highway at top speed. Oops! A curve. I was held up at gun point at my drug dealer’s house and totaled my car that same week. When I wrecked the car and my mom came to get me. I didn’t thank her for getting out of the bed early morning and driving an hour to get me. No, I screamed at her. “Did it happen? Just tell me the truth? I thought I’d made it up in my mind all these years, like a dream.” I asked her if a woman had molested me when I was 6 and she said “Yes, it happened.” I remember now. I remember being six and my mother telling me, so vividly, to just ignore it, like it never happened. I eventually did just that. It ended up screwing up everything that was pure about me. I don’t hate her for it, because she told me years later that the exact thing happened to her. In a tearful cry for help, she confessed to me something she’d never told a living soul. She’d been living with it for over 40 years. She said that she told herself it never happened, but she knows now asking me to do the same was wrong. I guess my point to all this is you never know what someone else is dealing with, even if they seem perfect on the outside. I was a virgin until 18, I was Homecoming Queen and Valedictorian. I was everything that should make someone happy. But inside was total shit. And went I got away to the real world, I was the opposite of perfection. I turned my outsides just like my insides were. Then I straightened my ass out. I graduated, got a job, and met someone.

I thought I’d found true love and someone that accepted me even with my flaws, my Borderline Personality Disorder, and who I am now. More grown up, independent with a job I love. But still turmoil on the inside.

He left me last week on our two year anniversary. On the very day we had met two years ago, at the very same restaurant. I wrote him this letter when I was completely destroyed last night. He has not responded. It makes me want to kill myself because he never truly cared for me if he can’t even be a friend to me now after reading this. I don’t know, maybe I am just a selfish ***** who pushes everyone away. You decide. Here’s the letter.

“Dear (love of my life),

How are you doing? I worry if you’re okay. If you are in any shape that I am in, then it’s not good. I want to call you so bad, just to hear your voice. To be honest this is killing me. Worse than anything I can remember. Ever since you left it’s taken everything in me not to break down and call you. What I’m going to tell you will sound pathetic and exaggerated, but it’s the truth. I laid in my bed the two days after you left, crying, just listening to cars. Listening for your car. I held some glimmer of hope that you might come back, and praying at the same time that you didn’t. It’s the contradiction that’s killing me. I want you more than life itself, your my best friend, and I love you so much it hurts. But my head is telling me that its not going to work. But, I could give a shit what my head says, cause my heart has far more power in this body than my mind ever will. And I just love you too much. I don’t love often, I don’t think I’ve loved before feeling the way I do right now. After I spent a few days listening for your car. I woke up Monday morning for work and spent a good half hour sitting in the shower crying. I didn’t think I could make it. So I go to work all soggy eyed and zombie like. But, its good. Its a distraction and I keep so busy I don’t even take a bathroom break. I remember you saying that I sleep like a rock and I find that to be the opposite now. I wake up several times in a knot wrapped around covers, clothes, hell even my hair choking me from my constant moving and restless sleep. I’m fallin apart here. I take my bagel to work, take one bite and trash the rest. I might eat half a sandwich. I stayed at mom’s again last night. I can’t stand being in my apt cuz EVERYTHING reminds me of you. Your chair in front of me right now kills me. I just see you in it. The coffee table cause you always had your stuff on it. The couch because of your things. My bed cause you laid in it with me. It feels empty. I’m just sick to my stomach over it. And the crying. I just never know when its gonna hit me. Are you hurting too, I wonder. I never knew anything could effect me like this. My mom is real worried about me and she doesn’t want me to be alone. I called her 3 times tonight my first time back in the apt. I just needed to hear her voice. Nothing makes me feel better. My system is so fucked up I’m three days late for my period. I’m never late on the pill, ever. One day at the most. I actually hoped that I would be because I thought it would be God telling us that we were meant to be together. I even took a test last night. It said not pregnant.

If I heard your voice, or read your words, or saw your face. If I saw your face I would get down on my knees and beg you to want me again. But, I would want you to say no. Because the reason its killing me so fucking bad is that its really over. This is it. The end. I’ll never hug you or talk to you again. And its the last bit of my heart shattered to bits and it can’t be fixed. I’m going to stay at my parents as often as possible. Staying here tonight was the shittiest idea I’ve had.

I’ve gone on so much about every detail but I just wanted you to know what I’m going through. I’m in hell thinking I’ll never be with you again. I don’t know the point of this message. I’m not telling you to come back to me. I’m begging you. I just want one more hug. One of our good hugs that I can feel in my knees and don’t ever want to let go. Your soft lips, the softest ever, the sweetest kiss that washes all over me. I can’t stop crying. I’m begging you to want to spend the rest of your life with me. I’m begging you to feel like I do, that I’m all you need to survive. just you.”

Unquote…and I feel humiliated sharing my depression with the one person I care about the most and getting no response. I’ve tried to end it two other times. I know this won’t be my last battle, but reading everyone’s words here has helped a lot. I know that I am not alone. And if you are reading this, neither are you.