I Have To Love Myself More Than I Ever Loved You

I miss you.

I miss you so much it hurts. I miss your voice. I miss your laugh. I miss your hands and the way you said my name. I miss our nights in the car, driving under a moonlit sky down the Gardiner Expressway. I miss our walks in the park and drunk escapades. I miss your warmth and our inside jokes. I miss how you made me feel beautiful, how you made me feel invincible, and how you made me feel Iike I was the only damn person in the world.

You came into my life exactly when I needed you. But you left me constantly. Feeling your absence was and still is agonizing. It’s like I have a hole in my chest that throbs and aches whenever you cross my mind. 

I’m sorry I left you, and I’m sorry that I’m even sorry. I shouldn’t be apologizing for doing what’s right. But I couldn’t stand the way you were treating me anymore. It felt like I would move mountains and cross seas to help you anytime you needed it, but you would barely lift a finger for me, even when I begged. I needed to move on. I still do. 

Being in love with someone while they clearly don’t and can never feel the same is like constantly breaking bones and then taking the time to let them heal over and over again. Mending my bones wasn’t the hardest, it was knowingly fracturing them with a hint of hope and blind optimism that was the most damaging. Any small hint, any right word, anytime you touched me, my soul fell ablaze, and it was toxically addicting.

“Maybe it’s different now.”

“It’s been four years and he still comes back to me, maybe he does love me.”

Those were the thoughts that would constantly circulate in my brain. I gave you every excuse in the book. Hell, I even published a new one just to convince myself that despite everything, you were worth it.

The “dates”—as you called them, not I—the kisses, the innocent and devilish touches all culminated into one long, never ending cycle where I would do anything to spend even an hour with you. Drunk you was my favorite. You were beyond flirty and your words became true. Those were the words that kept me coming back.

“I like you a lot more than I should.”

“You know I love you.”

“You’re my baby.”

As these memories resurface even now, I can’t stop the tears that cascade down my cheeks. 

I loved you more than anything, faults and all. All I wanted was you. I didn’t care about anything other than your happiness. But there was a price. I stopped caring about myself, how I was being treated, and what I deserved in order to make memories with you, both meaningful and devastatingly heartbreaking. Some nights were picture perfect and some were scarring beyond repair. Your voice, your body language, and your words were unpredictable each time. And once the negatives began taking over anything positive, I knew it was time to go. 

But I can’t stop. 

I can’t stop thinking about you. 

Are you okay? Are you getting better? Do you ever think about me? Do you even care? How can I answer these questions if we don’t talk? 

But I can’t speak to you again, I owe it myself. 

“Rabbit hole.” 

That’s what we used to say to each other anytime it was getting too real. It would be mid-conversation and one of us would just blurt it out. 

“Rabbit hole.” 

And then we’d laugh. 

But we both knew it meant our feelings were taking over. I swear you loved me. How could someone use another body, toy with someone else’s emotions, and do everything else for almost half a decade and not have feelings? 

I guess that’s something I’ll never know. 

I love you. I love you so much. But I’ve decided that I have to love myself more. I deserve that. And you never deserved me.