Things haven't ever been this bad.

Sure, for years I was severely depressed, and talked about how dead I was inside.  But there were still small moments here and there where I felt some sense of joy.  Hidden pockets of sunshine that glimmered through the darkness.  I was still able to rouse myself to go on adventures, go exploring, go hiking, and find some reprieve from feeling nothing, nature often times being the only thing that made me feel alive, made me feel at peace, made me feel anything at all.

Even last year, when it was (at the time) the worst things had ever been for me, mentally.  Being more suicidal than I had ever been in my life.  Not wanting to be alive by the time the end of the year hit.  But I think, even in the midst of all that, I still had some semblance of hope.

There is no hope anymore.

It all went away as soon as I saw the email in my inbox.  The email that contained the paperwork that was waiting for my signature.  Paperwork I didn't want to sign, but was forced to, because otherwise it would have been too costly, in too many ways.  Paperwork that has one of the ugliest words to ever exist.  Paperwork that, when I read it, made me feel sick to my stomach, and I haven't stopped feeling that way since.

It's different this time.
Last year it was bad, but there wasn't the definitive knowledge.  There wasn't the life-shattering decision that was made that I had no part in making (story of my life).  Last year there was still some communication.  There was still "I love you" and "sweetie" (although way less often than before) and even "I want you" (which turned out to be yet another lie).
There was also confirmation that he was my person.  And although it didn't feel like it for several months at that point, he was still my best friend.  Still the person who knew me better than anyone in my life ever had.  Although maybe that's not saying much, because my own immediate family barely knows me, so by default I suppose, anyone who isn't my [blood] family that I let in, probably knows me better than my own family.

But now we're here.
Except now there's no "we."  It's just me.
Before it was us, and ours, and two lives joined into one (well, my life joined to his).
And now that bond that was made and formed in so many ways, over so many shared experiences, has been severed, and that is a wound that will never heal.  Ever.

Nature always used to make me feel better.  Being out in it.  Seeing it.
And this is how I know things are too far gone.
Because the last time I was out in nature, hiking alone, as I used to do so often before in past years...I felt nothing.  Not one goddamn thing.  I didn't feel at peace.  I didn't feel any joy.  I didn't feel content.  I felt absolutely nothing.

And that's how I know there is now no longer any point.
Because if the one thing that used to be able to make me feel better, without fail, evoked absolutely no emotions within me... Well.  That's just confirmation of how far gone I am.

I know I keep repeating myself, like a madman, insanity seeping through the cracked facade of my once-solid exterior, but I just cannot make sense of it.
I cannot understand how over and over and over he told me he was in this for the long haul, that he wasn't going anywhere, wasn't going to leave me, and then that's exactly what he did.
I cannot understand how someone can be so weak, to not be able to stick it out through the hard times, to follow through and stay, even if things seem hopeless.
I cannot understand how someone can tell me I'm the love of his life, his best friend, his soul mate, that he wants me, and then decides he doesn't want to be married to me anymore.

Never in a million years will I be able to make sense of it.
Never will I ever be able to comprehend how little I was worth to him.  Not worth following through on many things, but the biggest thing of all: the vows he made the day we married, where he promised to be by my side for better or for worse.

If you ever want to know the character of a person, all you need to do is observe them.
To know if they're a person of their word, a person who will follow through on what they say, you will see them do so.
If you want to know if things matter to them, watch where they invest their time and attention and money.  You will see them pour into the things they actually value.
If you want to know if they think of others first (i.e. can express empathy) or if they are self-centered, pay attention to how they respond.  If they first respond saying things like "same" or react in a way that points towards themselves, you will learn they are the first person they will be thinking about in almost any situation.

My whole life I have not felt wanted by my family, or even by other people in my life.  There are various reasons as to why this is, but the biggest indicator were the actions of those around me.  It would only make sense that the one and only person who was supposed to stick by my side, the person I saw and chose to love and know and spend the rest of my life with, would also not want me.
It follows the same pattern of everyone else.

Of course, I get it to a certain extent.
I was a failure as a wife.
I was a horrible example to him of what it looks like to love someone.  So often I got caught up in my own hurt, in my own feelings of not being wanted, of not being heard, of my feelings not mattering to him at all, that I withdrew.  I withdrew instead of working on making sure that I didn't make him feel that way.  And I failed in absolutely every way that mattered.
And the worst part is, is that being so caught up in my own hurt and the constant rejection, I didn't even see it until it was too late.  I didn't see that I didn't make him feel safe, that he couldn't tell me things he should have been able to tell me (if he truly saw me as his best friend/wife).  The biggest indicator was when he got back from deployment, and that very day I picked him up, he got absolutely drunk, and he had to be in that state to tell me he didn't feel safe to tell me things.

And I hate myself for that.
I hate myself for failing him.  I hate myself for allowing myself to feel things, which then made me feel everything, which made me feel rejected and hurt and not wanted.  I hate that I reacted so poorly to things in the past, that I made it unsafe for him around me.  I hate that I didn't push for us to get real help back when we were dating, because had I done so, I know things would have gone differently, and we would have worked out shit early on, rather than letting it pile up from basically day one, because he didn't see it as a priority, nor did he actually want to put in the work on getting better (despite him saying otherwise).

I am a failure in all aspects of the word.
And it makes sense why he doesn't want me, doesn't want to be married to me.
It makes sense that I stopped being his best friend, that he didn't like being around me, that he stopped wanting to have sex with me, that he prefers to be alone rather than being with me.

I hate people, too.
That's one of the things we bonded over early on (if you don't hate people you don't get it).
And I prefer to be alone, too.  I'm a major introvert.  Why wouldn't I prefer that?  But the thing is, is that I preferred being with him over being alone.  Because he was my person.
But I was never his.

There's a show that I've seen before called "Fleabag" which had some really great moments in it that talked about love.  One of the quotes goes something along the lines of "I don't know what to do with it...with all of the love I have for [him].  I don't know where to put it now."
And I don't.
There is never going to be anyone else.
He doesn't understand that. 
It was only ever him.  I saw him, and I chose him, and I rose in love for him.

But even more than not knowing where to put all the love I have for him, I don't know what to do with all this hurt.
To experience the betrayal of someone who told you they weren't going anywhere, who vowed to you before best friends and God that only death would part you, but instead, it wasn't death but their own inability to want to keep their promises...it feels like someone took out your brain from your skull, unwrapped it, and did a poor job of putting it back together again before stuffing it back into your cranium.
I feel like I am going mad, because I am trying to make sense of something that will never make sense.
I am drowning and suffocating in the madness that all this hurt and pain is producing.  Weekends are for drinking excessively, because I need to feel numb.  I've also taken up the habit of slapping my own face as hard as I can (easier to do when intoxicated) to stop myself from being a little bitch and feeling this much.  Anything to be numb and lessen the pain, because it is too much. 
It is too much.

No one can ever explain to me why he couldn't keep his word.  Why I never mattered to him.  Why the vows he made and the life we shared for such a short time wasn't worth anything to him.

There is no hope anymore.
There is no future.  No shared life.  No growing old and grey together, nor arguments about which one of us is going to die first because we don't want to see the other go.

So I have no competition now, but I'm going to go first.
I just need to get over this fucking fear of death.  It's going to happen eventually, so might as well make it sooner rather than later, right?
That's what I keep telling myself.
And it's true.
I just need to stop being such a fucking coward about it, and figure out the best way, and get everything sorted.

And then, at the very least, I will have kept my vows to him.
And when he finally finds the person who he wants to be with more than he wants to be alone (it will happen eventually, from one of the girls he finds to fuck), he can be free to be with her, because I will no longer be alive, so his vows will have been fulfilled.

I will conquer this fear.
And then I will finally be free of all this hurt.

My brain has been my enemy for almost half my life at this point.  There were a few years there (in very recent times) when it actually wasn't, but it has since become my enemy again.  And I've been thinking lately.  Too much.  But it happens nonetheless, and so I suffer the consequences.

I've had this blog for so many years, I don't recall if I've talked about the fact that I hate my birthday.  Or if I have talked about that, if I've talked about why I hate my birthday.  But, as it occasionally does, the subject has surfaced again in my brain, with additional realisations.  (After all, with everything in my life, every single thing is analyzed, over and over and over again, trying to make sense of why and how and what could have been done differently, what can be done differently to not have a repeat in the future, etc. etc. etc.)

I hate my birthday.  Anyone who knows me well will know this.  Although I think only a handful of people know why.  It took me a while to figure it out for myself, and this was after going to therapy, then not going to therapy anymore (due to moving), and somehow the residual effects of therapy lingered in my brain long enough for me to make the connection.

I grew up in a household of 8 people.  I'm the youngest of 6 kids.  The children outnumbered the parents, and for a lot of reasons, there wasn't enough attention to go around for everyone.  (Positive attention, I should say.)  From my perspective now, as an adult, thinking about the things I remember from my childhood, it seems like if us kids behaved/were good, we were otherwise ignored, because we were doing what was expected.  Good behaviour, doing the right thing, did not guarantee positive attention or affection.  (Negative/bad behaviour, on the other hand, definitely guaranteed attention, but not of the positive kind.  Ask me how I know.)  Because I was a temperamental child (I used to joke I should have been born with red hair), I got quite a bit of attention.  But not the good kind.  The kind that was a response to inflict disciplinary correction, as a way of making me behave (spoiler alert: it didn't work).  I think I fall into the cliche of the youngest child syndrome, which I absolutely hate, but here we are.  I didn't get enough attention or affection, so my subconscious child brain drew the conclusion that if I did bad, at least I would garner some kind of attention, albeit negative attention.  Et voila.

Until my birthday came around.

On my birthday, that glorious one day out of 365 days, the day was mine.  Parents and siblings alike acknowledged that I existed.  The attention I got was good and happy.  I was celebrated.  People expressed love.
And then the day was over.
And I crashed and burned.

I think I started hating my birthday when I was in middle school/high school.
Because it became too much.  The emotional toll of having one good day, just one, of people in my family paying attention to me, celebrating me, and then to have the very next day return back to "normal" where I was otherwise ignored (more or less), was such a hardcore crash and burn emotionally, that it became too much.  I hated that feeling on the day after my birthday that always came.  Always.  Without a doubt, the day after I would wake up and feel so...I don't know.  Empty?  Lost?  Unwanted?

This is what made me start hating my birthday.

And in thinking about it again recently, that's when I realised it.  My childhood consisted of this: 1 day out of the 365 days that exist in the year, I felt seen.  I felt wanted.  I felt welcome.  I felt celebrated.  Once that magical day ended, and reality came back like a punch to the face, I went back to being just another child in a big family, who really only got specific attention if I misbehaved.
Don't get me wrong.  There were other moments, I'm sure (I can remember just a handful, but maybe there were more that I don't remember), where I did actually get positive attention.  But those moments felt few and far between.  They did not outweigh or outnumber the negative attention, or the most common scenario of simply existing and not really being acknowledged one way or another.  Of course, there were also other moments where, while I was too young for my brain to consciously make the connection, where things happened that communicated to me that I wasn't welcome or wanted.  I'm sure those situations that happened were not the intentions of my parents.  I'm confident they did not mean to have their actions communicate to my small child brain that I was too much, or not wanted; intentions aside though, actions always speak louder than words, and the actions told me that I was too much, and that I wasn't wanted.

There is a reason (multiple reasons, actually, but I digress) that I'm not really close to my immediate family.

I have hardly felt seen in my life.

From not really having attention or affection growing up, or having too many people in the house that I was just another body/face that existed, or whatever the case was, who I was, my likes, dislikes, things I cared about, friends, whatever...those things were not paid attention to.  And it's funny, because I suppose people who experience this can react one of two ways.  The first type of person would experience this, and take that to mean it doesn't matter, and live their life in that same way: not paying attention to the people around them, not bothering to get to know them, to show that they care.  The second type of person would respond the opposite: they did not get the attention they needed, and so they made up their mind that the people in their life would not go through the same experience.  Instead, they would make sure to know the people around them, know their likes and dislikes, their favourite colour, what makes them happy, how to comfort them when they're sad...
I am the second person.

There have been a few moments in my life, however, where I have felt seen by my family.  By the people in my life.  And I have not forgotten those moments.

Like the time where my brother was dating someone, and he kept pushing me to try to talk to her.  And our dad warned him to stop pushing, because I wouldn't react well.  And dad was right.
Or the time when I was visiting family in the Midwest, and my sister-in-law told me that my brother had told her that I'm an extremely loyal person.  The fact that he knew that about me shocked me, because I don't think my family knows me very well at all.  But he was right.  And in that moment, I felt seen.
Then there was the time I was visiting home back in California, and I was with my parents, and we were trying to find a local coffee shop to go to (the one I initially was trying to take them to had closed sometime after I moved away).  And my mom suggested a place, and my dad shot down the idea, stating their coffee wasn't very good, and I wouldn't like that.
Or on that very same trip, my dad broke out the grill and made hamburgers, because my parents know that's my favourite type of food.
The time years and years ago when I had wanted to visit a friend I made from summer camp, to be at her high school graduation, but didn't have money and gave up on the idea, and my sister, out of nowhere, surprised me with a plane ticket to make the trip.  I don't even remember talking to her about wanting to do that, but somehow she knew, and she made it happen for me.
And the most recent time was a couple years ago now.  We were still living in upstate New York, and there was a specific place my husband had went for work.  He noticed the architecture in the area was beautiful, and knew that I loved architecture, and so one weekend made it a point to drive me out there, just to show me the beautiful homes.  I felt so loved and so seen in that moment.

Those moments in my life have been few and far between.
But I remember them.
Because it is not often in my life that I feel seen.
That I feel like I'm wanted, or that I matter.
And so I treasure those memories, those moments, for what they were.  Because it showed me, that against all odds (or so it feels), somehow people still paid attention to me, and saw me, and knew me, in some way.

And that means more than they will ever know.

 It's been a long time since I woke myself up in the middle of the night from hyperventilating due to a dream.  But it happened again last night.  All the times it's happened in the past year have been because of dreams with him in them.

The one last night involved me seeing him again.  I can't remember if other people were around; I think they were.  And he was talking as if we were just two old friends catching up.  Completely ignoring the history we have together.  And he started talking about the last girl he fucked, about how he was banging it out with her, and how it seemed like she was getting attached and wanted an actual relationship with him...I cut him off.  I don't remember what I said, but I think I just wanted him to stop.  I didn't want to hear how he moved on to fucking other women, just like he did before we were together.  And I couldn't just pretend like everything was okay, like hearing the man I would die for casually talk about his sex life outside of our no-longer-existent marriage.

I think in my dream I started crying.  I didn't wake myself up by crying (although that happened the last time), but I did wake myself up by hyperventilating.

...

I don't know how to not be married to him.

I don't know how to carry on with life, where everything about my life currently is not at all what I ever dreamed or imagined it would be.

I thought I found the man I loved.  The man who loved me.  Who called me the love of his life.  Who reassured me over and over and over again that he wasn't going anywhere...only to abandon me.

It's like no one understands how deeply and severely that absolutely fucks up your mind.

I only ever wanted a future with him.
To create memories.  To travel.  To take pictures together of the things we saw, of each other.  To have a happy, safe, loving home, filled with the babies he dreamed about wanting us to have.

And now I will never get to experience that future.

I have no future now.

I know he's no longer mine.
I know that whatever he does is no longer my business, and I have no say in it.
I know that.

And yet the thought of him being with someone else makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Even though I know I have no right or say in the matter.

How do people do this.
How do they love and allow that love to be torn out of their hands and carry on?  How do they pretend as if a limb that was part of their body wasn't ripped away, and the bleeding goes on and on and on and on, because that wound will never, ever heal?
Even worse, how do they put themselves through it again?

I cannot.
For several reasons.
Most of which have been laid out in previous posts.

I have been damned to grow old (if I actually do grow old) and to grow old alone.

If I were to ever have children, I would tell them to never, ever, ever give their heart away to someone else.  I would tell them that it's not worth it.  Because it's true: love equals pain.  

And the pain is too much to bear.

 It's been over two months since I've cried.
That's a record.  For recent years, at least.

2017 B.C.E. (Before Carlos Existed), I only ever cried once every year/once every two years.
Then I met a man who I decided was worth feeling things for.  Which made me realise that I'm a hyper sensitive person, and I cried a lot (compared to my whole life before him), because when you let yourself feel things and let yourself be vulnerable for a person in your life, turns out they have a lot of power and influence over you, and can do a lot of damage with their words and actions.

But I am recovering.
I have decided that my decision to feel things for the man that I loved was a bad one, and I am working on reversing that.
I am working on not feeling things again.
On not crying over anything again; just like I did before I met him.

Because feeling things is not worth it.
Love is not worth it.
And I will never love again as long as I live (which, hopefully, is a short time, and not elongated).

I am confident I can write whatever I want on here.

You know why?
Because I always have.  I have never been one to beat around the bush.  I have always been honest about how I feel, about my thoughts, about, well, everything.

Years ago I shared my blogs with him.
Back in the early years when we were dating.
Because I trusted him.  And I wanted to share with him the real me.  The me I didn't really let anyone else see (including my family).

Back then he told me he read the entirety of my blog.
But knowing what I know now, I bet that was a lie.  He didn't actually read every single post.  Maybe just skimmed all of them, or only read the ones that interested him.  But definitely didn't read every single one, word for word.
That probably didn't matter to him, and he probably thought it was an "innocent" lie.

There were a lot of those, I think.

That's why I know I can write whatever on here.
Not just because that's what I've always done.
But also because I know he doesn't read this/absolutely doesn't care about me.

I'm not an idiot.  At least, not when it comes to this.
(I was, however, an idiot on the day we married, believing he meant the vows he made, that only death would tear us apart.)
I know he doesn't read this.  I know he never did after I initially sent it to him.

How do I know?
Easy. 
He was never curious about me after we married.

Before, when we were dating, I wouldn't say he was "curious."
More so toxic and possibly narcissistic on how he treated me, and approached things.  Like me wearing makeup.  Or even me wearing dresses for work (or outside of work).

And then we married.
And while the toxicity was still there, somehow it changed.
He still wanted to know if I talked to guys, if they seemed to flirt with me (and I felt compelled to share with him every single interaction I had with the opposite sex - if only to be transparent, but also so he wouldn't get mad at me).
But it also seemed, after a year or so, he didn't care.

Maybe it was because we were finally together again, and I didn't have any friends in the area in which we were living, so to him no one was a threat.  (Until they were, by how I was acting, somehow.) 
But also because we were together and I had no friends, he probably didn't feel much need to be curious about me.  Or check up on me.  Because I was isolated.  I had no one outside of him; in the immediate area, at least.

So why would he be curious?

He wasn't.
His only "curiosity" came out when we weren't getting along, and he accused me of cheating on him.  When he had absolutely no basis to do so, because he knew I didn't know anyone in the area, and didn't have any friends.
(Psychologically speaking, his accusations were definitely projections, which means his accusations of me cheating means he was cheating on me.  Which I will never not be convinced he didn't cheat on me.  His accusations were pretty clear evidence he did, if nothing else.)

Apart from that, though, he didn't care about me.
Didn't continue to try to get to know me.  Didn't show any interest in the things I cared about (outside of the things he cared about, at least)

So why the fuck would he read my blog?

He wouldn't.
Because he didn't care about me.

And he definitely doesn't care about me now.
After all, he abandoned me.
He left me.
We were married, and he decided he wanted to move to a different place without me, which is absolutely fucked up, and not at all what a husband should do in a marriage.

And yet, he did.

And it was only a matter of time before he decided he didn't want to be married to me, after all the years of lying, of telling me he loved me, of telling me he cared about me, of telling me things were going to get better, that he was going to get better, that we were going to get better and be better, and be stronger...

All of that was a load of bullshit.

So it makes sense why my brain is so fucked up.
Why I feel like I'm going insane.
Why all the years I spent with him were years filled with lies.

Because that's what betrayal trauma does.

A person makes promises to you, makes vows to you, then turns around and breaks them.
The very person who was terrified when you first got together of you leaving him, of saying that you deserved someone better...that's the person who finally calls it quits.
Who abandons you.
Who leaves you and breaks his word to you and repeats the exact same pattern his own father pulled on his family (albeit a different way, but still abandonment, although two very different examples).

And what's worse?

He has ruined your entire life.
Your entire future.
All your hopes and dreams of the future you would share with him.  All the talk (that he started) of the babies you would have some day, the grandchildren you would have someday.  The found family both of you chose.

All of that crushed.

And his delusion that you'll find someone "better."

Which is absolute bullshit.

Because even if you found someone "better," even though you haven't called yourself a "Christian" in over 7 years, if you were to believe the Bible, if you were to turn around and call yourself a Christian, you would be damned.
Because the bible states that even though God hates divorce, it is permitted if the unbelieving spouse walks away.
But to get remarried is a sin, it is to commit adultery, because so long as there's any hope of reconciliation, it is not okay to get remarried.

So his decision to leave you, to abandon you, has robbed you.
Of everything.
Of a future.  Of love.  Of starting a family with the man you chose.

Of all of it.

So what is the point?
What is the point to continue to try?
To continue to live?
To continue to do anything?

There is no point.

You found the man you love.
Against all odds, against a lot of things, you still chose him.  Regardless of the differences.  Regardless of the toxicity of your relationship.
You saw him, you chose him, and you rose up in love.

And he abandoned you.

So there is no point.
There is no future.
All hopes and dreams have been robbed of you.

He robbed you, when he made his life-altering decision that impacted you, too, even though he refused to acknowledge the fact.

So you are left with nothing.
No hope.
No future.
No love.

We all die, someday.
Might as well make it sooner rather than later.
Especially when the man you loved robbed you of all the hopes and dreams you built of a future life with him.

 I cannot tell you how the darkness inside me has grown.
The last time I felt like this was probably close to 10 years ago.
Feeling so tormented inside, in my head, every waking moment, I sometimes thought I was going to go mad.

Mad with grief, mad with loss, mad with pain.

Loss is part of life, right?
Except the times when it shouldn't be.

You lose someone you love, someone who was dear to you, because death took them.
They didn't have a choice.  They didn't willingly leave you.  Their presence was stolen by death, whether the cause was old age or something else.
That kind of loss stings, but it's understandable.
Because they didn't choose to leave you.

And then there's loss when someone who said they loved you...someone who made a vow for better or worse, in sickness and in health, would only part ways with you when death took them...except death didn't take them.
They willingly walked away.

How do you recover from that?
Please tell me, I'm begging for anyone to tell me, how do you recover from that?

Because I am trying to make sense of it all in my head.
Trying to understand how he could tell me I was the love of his life, his best friend, how he would be able to continue on if he ever lost me but it would be difficult for him, only to then turn around and abandon me.
First to move someplace else without me, although that's absolutely not how marriage works.  And then to decide that he didn't want to be married to me anymore.

I can't make sense of it.
I have tried.
I keep trying.
But I can't.

The absolute opposing existence actions and words.
I'm the love of your life, but you don't want me anymore.
If you lost me it would be difficult to move on, yet you willingly lost me by walking away, and have easily moved on.
Giving your word that you would be by my side until death, but death hasn't taken you away from me.

I don't throw around the word trauma lightly.
I think too many people these days throw around words for things that don't actually apply to them, but they use them anyway, because it's a trend, or they've convinced themselves that's what it is (when in reality, it's probably something different, or not as major as they make it out to be).

But this decision that he's made, this choice, he made for him.
And in making this choice for himself, it has impacted every single facet of my life, too.
Because that's what happens when you marry someone.  Two lives become intertwined together; they become one shared life.  Or at least, that's what should happen.
It's clear his life was not shared with mine, but my life was absolutely intertwined with his.
And now a part of me has been ripped away forever.
A wound that will never heal.
A heart that will never be repaired.
A life that has been robbed of all its dreams of the future.

And that is nothing if not traumatic.
The trauma of being abandoned.
The trauma of extreme betrayal.
The trauma of being told that I matter, that I'm valued, that I'm wanted and desired, that I'm worth it...only to have it all turn out to be lies.
Because if any of that was true, he would still be here, by my side.

All of this, everything that has happened, the choice that he has made, is one big mindfuck. 
One small decision for him, but that small decision has seeped into every crevice of my sanity and is slowly tearing me apart inside.

I have so many noticeable white hairs on my head, that have cropped up seemingly overnight in the past year and a half from the stress and trauma of all this.
I can't sleep well at night anymore, and its taking a toll on my body.
I've lost my appetite because every time I think about what is happening to me, I get sick to my stomach.
I've stopped going to the gym and to therapy, because existing is a challenge in and of itself.
I can't even enjoy the things I used to enjoy, like baking or hiking.  I've tried.  I went hiking a week ago, and felt absolutely nothing being outside in nature, whereas before, such a simple thing as being outside would do wonders for me.

All those times he told me it would get better, that we would get better, that he wanted to work on himself for me and for us, that we would get through the hard times...those were all lies.
I should have known.
Because I saw the evidence of his hard work when he actually wanted to work on something.  I saw his determination and his willingness, the time he put into the things that mattered to him.
And I saw the lack of it when it came to our marriage.

I feel like I'm in psychological warfare, except there's no war.
There's no one to fight.
The last 6 years were one big joke, one long stint of telling me that I was loved and wanted for who I was, except surprise, I'm not.  
He grew tired of me, realised he didn't actually like who I was, and walked away, because I couldn't give him what he wanted anymore (whatever that was in the first place, I have no idea).

I don't know how much more of this I can handle.
In fact, I know I can't take this for much longer.

Him saying that he still loves me, still cares about me.
How am I supposed to believe that, when he's said that since the beginning, only to repeatedly show me the exact opposite through his actions?
How am I supposed to trust anything he tells me anymore, when everything has been a lie?
How am I supposed to trust anyone in my life, when the majority of my life and the people who were supposed to care for me repeatedly failed me and didn't keep their word?  Didn't provide the basic needs that every person - every child - has?

Lesson learned.
I can't trust anyone.
And I am not worth anything.

Even worse (if anything truly can be worse), is that with him walking away, he has robbed me of my chance to have a future with my own family.  The family I wanted to build with him.  The family he led me to believe he wanted with me, too.
He thinks I'll find someone else.
But if I truly believe what the bible says (even though I haven't called myself a Christian for the past 7 years), divorce is it.  Marrying someone else is committing adultery, which means sinning.

I never, ever thought the man I loved, the man I gave my heart to, the man I let see more of me than anyone else in my life, would abandon me, much less rob me of my future.  Our future.

I can't keep doing this.
I can't continue to live, when I have no reason to continue living.

All hope is lost.
All dreams are crushed.

I hope that someday soon I will finally get over my cowardice and end this suffering once and for all.

Because it is too much, and I cannot live like this for much longer.

This hurt is too great.
This torment too much to bear.

 I was 19.
At the time, I was doing my DTS with YWAM.  I remember there were some days I would sob hard - sometimes uncontrollably - from how lonely I felt.  Then one of the books we were required to read, changed my perspective on something.  After that day, I never felt lonely again.

I still don't.
Feel lonely, that is.

But I do, absolutely, feel alone.

If I don't think about it, I'm not aware of it.
But then sometimes things happen that make me aware of how alone I truly am.

For example, there's an institute here that I have signed up with to occasionally do medical studies for.  Paid, thankfully.  All studies have questionnaires/surveys that are required.  The most recent study I did (and am technically still part of), had some questions about feeling/being alone.

And that's when I realised it.

I don't feel lonely.
I haven't since I was 19, and that was over 10 years ago.
I do, however, feel alone.

Why wouldn't I?
It's not just that I am physically alone most of the time (apart from my cat).
But it's also from everything else.

Growing up, sure, it was a full house with 8 people sharing 3 bedrooms.
But unless you were misbehaving, you were mostly ignored.  (I think. I don't really remember, because a lot of the time I definitely was not behaving, and therefore had attention on me, because I was being disciplined.)
And then it was being an adult, but still just not having a lot of attention (which I was fine with) or affection (which I am also used to).

And then you came along.
Someone who saw me; completely, my weirdness and quirks and all, and still somehow miraculously decided that he still liked spending time with me.  Which was such a foreign concept to me, because I was used to people running away once they saw who I really was.
And some time after that, you decided you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me.  I couldn't believe it.  Someone who knew me more/better than anyone in my life (including family) and decided he liked me enough to want to spend the rest of forever with me?  What a wild concept.  What an insane notion.  What a...(not yet recognized) dream come true.

Until you spent more time with me.

I never hid from you the fact that I was depressed, and struggled with severe depression.
In fact, I remember one time when it was super bad, and you couldn't comprehend it.  You took it personally, which made it that much worse for me.
I don't know what you thought, but it seemed as though you thought maybe it would magically get better after we got married.

It didn't.

Don't get me wrong.  It definitely did get better.  Before you, I'd wake up every day (and when I say every day, I mean literally every. day.) and my first thought upon waking was "I want to die."
Then you came along.  And suddenly?  Suddenly, that wasn't my first thought anymore.  I still was depressed, but you made things better.  Better enough to where "I want to die" wasn't my very first thought when I woke up.

But it never fully went away.  Why would it, when it's been with me over half my life?
So you knew.  You knew going into our marriage that I was depressed.
I thought you knew and you still chose me.  You still loved me.  You still wanted to be with me.
But I was wrong.  I knew I was wrong the day you told me that you didn't like being around me when I was depressed (which was basically all the time).  If that didn't solidify it, I knew the day you told me you didn't like having sex with me because I'm me.

And then one day you drove me to an appointment where I was supposed to get a shot in my neck.  On the drive, I thanked you for taking me.  You responded by telling me you would always be there for me.

...

And then two weeks later you announced you wanted to move to a new city.  Alone.  Without me.

And that's how I ended up where I am now.  In a city I never wanted to live.  Near family physically, which doesn't mean shit, because my family has basically never been able to be there for me, or give me what I need.  When I'm around them, I'm constantly on guard, because the past is too much history to overcome with suddenly trusting them now.

I still don't feel lonely.  Truth be told, I hadn't felt lonely since I was 19.  But then being married in my late 20's, I felt lonely again for the first time in my life.  More so than ever before.
And I don't feel lonely now, but I feel alone.

Because I am.

I have been abandoned by the person who made a vow to me before God and man, to spend the rest of his life with me for better or worse.  The man who told me he would always be there for me, then two weeks later told me he wanted to move to a different place alone.  The man who told me I was the love of his life, and while he could move forward if he ever lost me, admitted it wouldn't be easy, and then willingly made the choice to lose me by leaving me.

Tell me how I'm supposed to get over that.
Tell me how I'm supposed to make sense of that in my head, when vows and actions contradict each other to the most extreme levels.
Tell me how I'm supposed to get over the trauma of betrayal and broken trust.  Not just from my family growing up, but from the one person who was supposed to love me regardless of what life threw at us, was supposed to be by my side, was supposed to spend the rest of our shared lives together.

Until it got too hard.
Until he decided he liked being alone more than he liked the idea of spending the rest of his life with me.
Until he made the choice that I wasn't worth trying to get better for, trying to change for, and sees his choice as what's "best" for me.

He once told me that "other people aren't [him]" when it comes to his egregious belief that someone "better" will come along for me.
But that's where he's wrong.
Other people may not be him, but he is doing to me exactly what my family did to me growing up.

Showing me (by actions) that I'm not wanted.  That I'm not worth anything, despite me trying to be good and on my best behaviour.  That I am not worth making an effort for, to provide for me, give me the basic needs any human *needs* much less wants, which is time and affection.

So yeah, maybe other people aren't him.
But if the sum of my life experience has been that most [influential and significant] people in my life fail in the most basic of things, that doesn't mean much.  If anything, it proves to me that all people will fail me.  Fail to follow through, fail to keep their word, fail to be there for me, fail to want to keep me in their life.

Family (by blood) doesn't mean anything to me.

I am completely alone.

And now I know I always will be.

People blossom when they're loved well.

Did you know that?

I remember a few years ago.  When I was under the impression that I was wanted.  That someone picked me.  That I was loved.  I remember walking around feeling all the confidence in the world.  Why?  Because I was confident that someone loved me - and wanted me - for being me.

Maybe you can't relate.  Maybe you've been well loved your whole life.  Maybe you had people who let you know you were valued, that what you felt mattered, that your existence was welcome and desired.  If so, what a wonderful world in which to live.

But there are those of us (me) who did not feel that way growing up.  Those of us who struggle to feel wanted.  Who struggle with feeling like our existence isn't an inconvenience.  Those of us who don't feel loved for simply being ourselves, but have to behave and be good in order to earn love before it's given to us.

And then someone came along who I let see my whole self.  Every ugly nook and cranny.  My weirdness.  My dumb quirks.  My not knowing a lot of pop culture references.  My being dead on the inside.  My shutting down and feeling less than the usual nothing when depression got really bad.  My exploring the freedom in saying "no" to things I didn't want to do, learning to experience a sense of control, when I did not have the freedom to really express or experience that growing up.  Someone who, in spite of all of that, saw me and still wanted to be around me.  Still wanted to get to know me.  Still decided to choose me and love me for...well...me.

Until he didn't.

If the one person who vowed to love me, for better or worse, rich or poor, in health and in sickness, until death, decides that he doesn't want me anymore, what am I supposed to think?  How am I supposed to interpret that?
Because what it means is that this vow that we both made, this covenant before God and before witnesses, was not sincere.  It was not spoken truly nor with sincerity.  I doubt the words even registered, because they were simply repeated.  Who really pays attention when someone says "repeat after me?"

It tells me that the vow was not intentional.  It tells me that things got hard, and it was time to quit instead of buckle down to adjust and repair.  It tells me that I really am not worth loving me for being me.  I was not enough.  I was too much.  I was...I don't know.  Insufficient.

I was thinking today (unfortunately) as I ran some errands.  I realised that my whole life I have more or less defined myself by what I am trying to not be.  I am *not* going to be too much.  I am *not* going to be an inconvenience.  I am *not* going to be a burden.  Etc.

I have tried so hard to not be too much.  Because the majority of my life, I have felt like I actually am too much.  Too much to handle, too much to stick around for, too much to take the time to invest in.  If I worked really hard and made myself as small as possible, hardly noticeable, not needing too much attention, affection, time, whatever...maybe then someone would want me.  Maybe then someone wouldn't be too put off by me.  Maybe then I would be worth loving.

Turns out it doesn't matter how I am.  I don't know if it's possible to be too much and not enough simultaneously, but I certainly feel like I am.  Regardless, who I am, how I am, whoever "Aimee" actually is...is not enough.  Not worth it.  Not desired or wanted or valued or loved.

And knowing that...seeing that happen again and again in my life...what's the point?  What's the point of trying to be good, if it's never good enough?  What's the point in trying to be as little as an inconvenience as possible, if you are still an inconvenience?  What's the point of feeling things, feeling anything, if your feelings are not valid and no one cares about them?

It doesn't matter if people tell me that I'm a good person.  Being a "good" person doesn't mean shit.  It doesn't mean you win extra points.  It doesn't mean life is going to be easier for you.  It doesn't mean you'll be noticed above everybody else.  And it certainly doesn't mean that you are going to be wanted or loved for being "good."

The conclusion, then, is that there is no point.  There is no point in trying to be good.  There is no point in trying to not be an inconvenience.  There is no point in feeling things.  There is no point in allowing myself to love.

I am going to fix myself.  True, it's been too long of me living like this to change my tendencies of not being a burden, too much, etc.  But I am going to go back to the way I was.  Not feeling anything.  Not allowing myself to be vulnerable.  Not allowing myself to love.  My walls were a mile high before, but I am going to build them back up to 10 times that height.  No one will be able to get in.  No one will be able to break through.

Never again.

 I take the tomato and cut it in half.  Then I take each half, and cut it into wedges.  I lay them down on their sides, and sprinkle salt on them.  Opening the kitchen drawer that serves as a home for my utensils, I grab a fork, stab a wedge, and put it in my mouth.  The salt brings out the flavour of the tomato, and this small ritual reminds me.  Every time, it reminds me.  Of her.  Of the first person who meant something to me that I lost.

Even now, years later, and the grief stays with me.  What is it they started saying in the past few years?  "Grief is love with no place to go."  I think that's it.  It sounds right, anyway.  And it's true.  When it comes to someone who left because death took them, at least.

All these small rituals that compose my life.  Ones I've formed on my own.  Like always smelling a tea bag before I place it in the cup to steep.  Or taking my camera with me whenever I go hiking.  Or making food for people I love.
Or the rituals I have that I picked up from others.  Saying "hot hot hot" as I eat a certain brand of chip.  Moving my hands as I talk.  Giving really tight hugs.

And then, there's the rituals we formed together.
Checking out local coffee shops.  Driving around with no destination.  Pointing out every jeep on the road.  Countless others.

How can life be filled with so many rituals, so many reminders, of the people who have impacted me in some way, left behind trails of themselves, fingerprints on the canvas of my heart, and hurt so much because of it?

It's like everything results in loss.
People will always leave, sooner or later.  By choice or otherwise.

So tell me, what is the point?
What is the point of trying, of making an effort, of pouring my love into people that I cannot depend upon, people who say things but don't mean them, people who don't follow through, people who say they love me but fail to show it, people who will eventually leave because no matter how hard I try, how much I try to become who they seem to want me to be, how "good" I am, it is never, ever, ever enough.

You once told me that I was a romantic in the true sense; in the sense that eventually, everything ends in tragedy.
Will it be tragedy if I take my life into my own hands?  I couldn't stop you from leaving, I couldn't make you love me, or choose to keep your vows, but I can choose to keep mine.  Until death do we part...right?

I used to think love wasn't worth the risk of the pain, the heartache.  I forced myself not to feel for the majority of my life, because to feel was to be in pain.  Then you came along, and I decided you were worth the risk.  The risk of feeling, feeling everything and feeling it all deeply, the risk of loving, because I thought my heart was safe in your hands.

Never again.

I am not going to make the mistake ever again of feeling things.  Of deciding that love is worth it.  Of finally finding someone who was home, someone I could give all the love away that I had hidden inside of me for so long.

I am going to go back to the way I was.  Not feeling anything.  Hardly ever crying.  Not loving anyone or anything.  I know now my younger self was right; love is not worth it.

Nothing is worth it.
(Definitely not me.)

 I have been thinking for hours today about how I have never had one single person I could depend on in my life.
So it is very little wonder that I don't trust anybody, much less depend on anyone to be there for me (especially when I need it most).

Sure, I grew up raised by a mother and father, so in a sense I depended on them, but that was for more technical things, like clothing, shelter, food.  And most certainly as an infant I had no choice but to depend on them.  And growing up, being raised by them, I was their responsibility, so again, it was their duty and obligation to provide for me, and I was dependent upon them for the necessities.

However.

As far as someone being there to provide for the less obvious needs, like emotional and mental support?  Support when emotions were raging, support when I was confused by drama at school, support when my brain became my enemy?  No, I didn't have anyone for that.

And sure, maybe there have been small snippets of time where I had a person to depend on momentarily, but it wasn't for a long period of time, and it most certainly wasn't consistent.

And then someone came along that I gave my heart to, someone who made a vow to be by my side, for better or worse, until death. 
And did death come for either one of us?
No.
Instead that vow was broken, everything betrayed, trust completely shattered, and I was a fool for thinking I finally had someone who would be there for me whenever.

I am not going to make that mistake again.

What is so wrong with me that people...that someone...can't be there for me?
Why am I not worth keeping your word for?

I learned a long time ago that people talk a lot of shit, say a lot of nice things, but 99% of the time, people just do not follow through with what they talk about doing, or say they're going to do for/with me.
So now I listen to people when they tell me things.  Express "nice" ideas.  But I never, ever, ever believe anyone.  Not until they show me.  And even then, if they show me one time, fuck, even two times, I will still think it's a fluke.
Because it is.
It would have to be a steady consistency of someone following through and keeping their word before I actually believe what they tell me.
And I have never, ever, not in my whole life, found one single person to be consistent in what they say.

And how fucked up is that?
What is so goddamn hard about keeping your word?
About saying what you mean, and meaning what you say?
About watching what you say, not to give away your word so easily, that you continue to break it because you make promises you can't keep?

So sure, on one hand, it's a matter of every person who currently walks this planet being a flake and failing to follow through on things.
But on the other hand, is there really no one out there who exists who is steady and consistent and faithful in following through?

Regardless.

I have learned my lesson.
I cannot depend on anyone.
I never have been able to.

And I never will.

Why does my heart hurt so much?
Why do I feel so restless inside, a longing and an ache that cannot be satisfied in this world?

...why do I have to grieve and mourn things that are lost but still within reach?

It is one thing to grieve and mourn over the loss of things or loved ones we had no control in losing, because it was simply time for them to leave.
It is an entirely different thing to grieve and mourn over the loss when the person is still alive.

Because they actively chose to walk away.
To leave.
And you are left with a million unanswered questions, and a million unwalked paths from a dreamed up future that will now never come into existence.

I do not want to feel.
I do not want to experience a rush of, well, anything, because it only means the inevitable crash and burn that comes after feeling a rush.
I want to drink myself into oblivion where I will feel numb.  But where I will also be able to face the hurt and confusion more head on.

And yet.
I find I cannot consume alcohol as easily these days as I used to in my mid-20's when I first started drinking.
It's probably a good thing, although at times like these, I am not a fan of being that way.

How can a few small moments from a stranger provoke such strong reminders of what I once thought I had, but apparently never did?

How can I reconcile and accept that the person who told me they loved me, wanted me, wanted a future with me, actually truly never meant those things, because if they did, they would still be here, by my side, fighting to make that future a reality?

How can I believe anyone else who may come along and say the same things to me, when the first person (who should have been the only person) said those exact same things, and later decided they weren't actually true?

How can I even think for a second that people want to be around me - me, a depressed person who is most likely incapable of long-term happiness, who feels things too deeply, who fights every day to stay alive - when the person who was supposed to be my person didn't even like being around me when I was depressed/sad/just generally me?

I guess that's the answer, isn't it?

No one likes being around a depressed negative person.
At least not for a long time.
And definitely not for a lifetime spent together.

Once again I am faced with all the facts that my worst fears (once unknown to me) are confirmed.
I am not worth an effort.
I am not enough, and yet, too much.
I am not wanted or desired...or even loved.

For all my upbringing, I am aware that there is only One who can truly fulfill what is now this blatant void in my life.
Yet, I cannot see myself turning in that direction to have that void filled.
Not right now.
Not with all the hurt from the past, with the legalism and judgemental mindsets and the implied need to be perfect before being capable of being loved, rather than grace and understanding and being loved for who I am right now, imperfections, mistakes, and all.

How can I be told that God is a God of love, when I grew up feeling the pressure to be good and perfect and behave in the "right" way, before I could be shown affection or have proclamations of how I'm loved be stated easily and freely?
I know that being good is not enough.
But even being good wasn't enough to feel loved or wanted as a child.

If I behaved, I was, at best, ignored and left alone.
But if I misbehaved, at least there was some attention, as negative as it was.
(I hate that I fit so perfectly into the youngest child cliche, and yet, here we are.)
(It's little wonder I hate any attention on me, if the only attention I received as a child was negative in its connotation.)

I don't know what to do.
Okay, that's a half lie.
On one hand, I know what to do, to some degree.
On the other hand, I don't want to do it, because there is still so much hurt and rejection and anger that I have not processed, and I don't want to start something "new," pulling those things with me into it.

I know I didn't have it bad growing up.
I know, technically speaking, I don't have it "bad" right now (although I would like to argue that).
And yet life feels so incredibly unfair and wildly out of my control and what even is the point of trying to be good, to behave, to do anything if it only ever results in my world being turned upside down and being hurt over and over and over again?

Better to not feel anything at all, like before, than to allow myself to feel and be vulnerable and only ever experience hurt and nothing more.

Even more, better to just not continue life at all, because really, what is the fucking point?  I have to work to fix mistakes that screwed me up.  Things I had no control over that made me the way I am now.  How is that even fair?  How is it fair that I poured my heart and soul and all the love I had been waiting my whole life to give to someone who actually wanted it and would give me love in return, only to be abandoned by that very same person who promised me we would only part in death?

And that's just it.
There is no point.
And none of this is fair.

So really...why bother trying?
Why bother with anything anymore?

I'm done.