I sat on the floor of the shower sobbing while istening to PJ Harvey for an hour, pulling my hair and scratching at my skin repeating "Its over, Its over, Its over" and "shit, shit, shit." The pain was so deep, like I was grieving an actual loss and not just something I made up in my head. 

I imagined everything I would have to do after he left me. I'd have to take down our pictures, block him on 4 different social media platforms, tell my friends he left me, I'd have to be alone with myself, face that I'm unlovable. I'm never comfortable when I'm alone. I'd have to spend the rest of my life with the one person I hate the most.

Obviously I'd have to cut myself and get high once he dumped me, hopefully overdose. I don't deserve to feel good. I imagined my entire suicide, I imagined my other ex finding out about it and feeling bad. Then I felt bad that I couldn't see people react to my suicide, *then* I felt like a manipulative, attention seeking piece of shit for thinking those thoughts. 

I imagined running into him in town a couple months after he left and how I'd react, seeing him with a new person. I felt the never ending emptiness that would become my every waking moment, always alone. 

Anyway, I came out of the shower, feeling raw and disoriented. He asked me if I was okay and said "You know I still love you right? You didn't do anything wrong and I know you can't control it, I want you to go to therapy to get better for *you*. Our relationship isn't at stake or anything." 

Why does my psyche actually believe that I will *cease to exist* if I'm not in a relationship? I'm not exaggerating when I say I feel like I'm actually dying. 

So yeaah, I think I'm going to look into therapy. 