I broke up with my ex girlfriend…like, 3 times. I do it out of fear that she’ll leave me first, so once things are a little rocky I leave before she could realize how terrible of a person I was. Or how easier it would be if she didn’t have to deal with me.

Basically, I would try to save myself from heartbreak, by breaking my own heart. And I guess, at least if I break my own heart, I can take it out on myself. I only have myself to blame.

And yet I sit there and act like I didn’t do it to myself. I cry and I curse the Gods and I demand to know why, why me? As if she had broken my heart. Maybe she wouldn’t have ever hurt me. I wasn’t willing to stick around to see.

And now we’re friends, because I can’t live without her, and I’m watching her move on and I’m sick with grief but I can’t cut her off because what then?

What then?

“Maybe you’ll be happier?” Wrong. I’ll think of her every single day and then die of heartbreak. Call me dramatic. 

At least she makes me feel something. Even if it’s bad. At least I’m not numb anymore. Right?