Love hurts, I learned that the hard way. My name is not important, but my story is.


1. The beginning, the end; our everything.

I am living in a constant state of ambivalence. I am tired of living, and I am sacred of dying. I am panicked to the brink of insanity. I am young, yet I am older than dirt. My mind drained, sucked dry for all its worth. Some days, most days, there is nothing but the everlasting darkness. I find comfort in it, yet my light, the burning light, appears and I cannot succumb to the dark. Even though it pulsates within me, sending its dark tendrils of misery through my every fiber. Until there is nothing left, but a darkness that tries to end my beautiful light.
My heart feels as though it should no longer be beating.
 I am so sad, that the word has lost its meaning and it feels as though there should be invented a new word just to describe my suffering.

My tears form rivers down my cheeks, even after all this time they form new little ones. Trails of mascara makes the borders, reddening my eyes as they become the fountain that pours misery and suffering. I can feel the pieces of my essence floating on the river, bobbing up and down, uncertainty pulling them down until they are no more than drowned and dissolved nothingness.
That’s what I feel; nothing. The void that takes over everything, sucking everything that should have been good dry. Until nothing is left but a shell. A shell where cracks appear and spread every day. I do nothing to fix them, but everything to hide them.

They cannot see all that is broken, because they don’t understand. They don’t want to see how broken I am. How messed up and how utterly destroyed I am inside. They don’t want to see. I want to yell at them, and I want to scream why they don’t see. Why don’t they see how much I am dying inside?
How darkness takes a hold of my body, and I can’t escape no matter how fast I run.
I don’t run anymore, I am too tired. Too tired to feel. Too tired to deal. Too tired to live.
I sleep because I am so exhausted, so utterly detached from everything I should love and want to be apart of. But when I feel the cracks breaking apart, you come, and you do what you do best.

You are my tape and glue guy, you are my knight in shining armor. Yet you are not shining or a knight. If so you are a broken knight, who lost his chivalry a long time ago. You are everything I ever needed, my dark knight that comes with his weird sense of humor that makes me feel less weird and less alone. You make me tell you every part of my day, and if somebody has hurt my feelings you get angry on my behalf and you tell me you want to punch them. So do I, but I am too tired, and you care too much.

When the darkness is there, and your light isn’t enough to turn it away. You bring your tape and your glue, and you fix me up the best you can. You know that the only one who can fix me is me, but I am so, so tired. He sees it, and he fights for me. My dark knight.
I would slay dragons for him. That’s when I wake up, when he is hurting I wake up from my slumber and my sword is drawn and I prepare for battle. My light is him and I will fight to the end of days for him. I will save him just as he has saved me. He pulls me from the darkness, and so I shall do when his light is threatened.
The danger is over, and there is a smile on his ever-loving face, so I return to the darkness that once again overtakes me.

I am scared of losing. Of losing him. I am sacred of him opening his eyes and realized that there is no more fight in me left to heal that needs to be healed, that he realizes that the fight to too long and too draining. That it’ll suck him up too. That he cannot fight for the both of us. That he will become exhausted, drained and just tired. That he will realize that it’s my fault. That he will resent me for what I have done to him. The fear has become to much three times, and so I built up the last of my strength and I left. Because it was for the better. It was for him. Yet I killed myself in the process, the light was gone and so was every remaining piece of myself. I tried so hard to hold out for him, I really did. Because in my head he was so much better off without me. He was going to heal and then he was going to find someone that he loved so dearly, who was capable of loving, caring and being there for him. The way that I wasn’t… it broke my heart repeatedly.

I was selfish. I lasted a month. The void grew, and I could feel nothing. The nothingness was so permanent and there wasn’t a light to protect no more. There was no tape and glue, and I was scared. So, scared of dying. I crawled back, on my hands and knees with tears streaming down my face. I came back.
But I came back to a person that looked at me with so much pain in his eyes. I had done to him what others had done to me. I had let him down. I had broken him, pushed him too far. He couldn’t be my dark knight if I was going to turn the sword on him and leave. That time… I promised I’d never leave again. That was a lie.

I lasted a couple of months, and then I left again. Because I valued his life more than mine. It’s hard being so scared all the time. The constant ambivalence of it all. I felt like it was right for him, but so wrong for me. So, I wanted to force him into seeing it. I wanted to force him to move on and find somebody who was right for him. What I didn’t realize how much it would hurt when he told me that he had been with someone else. I cried for three days straight, and my wrists bled. I didn’t allow him to come here, and so I drowned myself in another guy. I told myself I was moving on, and that it wasn’t revenge.

Deep down I knew I had thrown myself at someone that was opposite of him, someone that my family would love and someone I knew I couldn’t love, because it would hurt him the way that he had hurt me. It was lost on me that what I had done to him had led him to be with another one, and that my revenge wasn’t just revenge; it was turning into a war. Hurting him was so satisfying, knowing I had that power over him. Now, forever. In my head he belonged to me. Yet he wouldn’t let me in again, not all the way. I was now on the other side of the wall. We were friends, like we were before I had screamed my confession of love at him and he had screamed his back at me.

He moved, and suddenly I no longer had a choice but to let him go. I was him leave. Drove to airport and watched him get on the airplane. He saw me, and with the saddest eyes he waved goodbye. What was left of my still beating heart, he took with him. For the first time I felt the throbbing pain within me. I wanted to run after him, I wanted to go with him.

I wanted to tell him I loved him. Scream it to the stars.

 But I didn’t.

I just let him go. Watching him walk out of my life, and travel to another country to never come back permanently. Looking back at it now, I should’ve run up to him and told him I would be selfless for him, I would be his forever and I would never leave again. But again with what I know now, I would’ve lied. Because I was never in a position to be stabile enough for him. Never good enough.

More marks were left on my body, some by my own hands and other by the accidents. Isolation was once again my norm, and there wasn’t enough tape and glue to hold my pieces together. I had poured solvent all over myself, and nothing stuck anymore. The most pain came from knowing I’d never get him back, because he had finally realized he deserved better.

I missed him. I knew it was for the best, his best. I knew I had to leave him alone and let him move on. I knew it all… and my feelings stopped to exist. They were no longer present, and when I say feelings, I don’t mean the feelings of love. I mean all the feelings. I became wonderfully numb the moment I let go.
Many months went by.

When December hit that year, somebody asked me what my opinion about something was. This something was literature, something I used to love, and I had read the book. Yet my memory had so many holes it in, and my brain only consisted of the old movie theater where we had had our first kiss, our best moments and worst moments playing on the screen in a marathon run. “The story of Stardust”.
I didn’t have an opinion about this book I would’ve loved, had I been me. The fact was that over the past months, I had become someone else. Someone who didn’t enjoy life, someone who didn’t live. And so I didn’t have an opinion about something I could’ve talked hours about before.

All I saw was The story of Stardust. Why was it called that? Well, because that’s what he used to call me. The definition, found in the Merriam-Webster dictionary is “a feeling or impression of romance, magic, or ethereality”. He told me that to him, I was magic. That when he looked into my eyes he saw magic play behind them, and that I was the only person that he could ever love. The last part was obviously a lie, there simply wasn’t logic behind it. But so, my nickname became stardust, and so our story was one of it.

My mental state went on a dive again, and as we were friends and as he was the only person, still, that I trusted enough to open up to about it, I told him. He had been by my side during countless of these times before, being just as scared and sad about it as me. But I went down, and so I reached out to him. He had always held me, either psychically or in spirit the best that he could. This time was different, even from the last time where we had just been friends as well. This was different because his reply really was the one of a distant friend, one that couldn’t empathize or had the knowledge to support me or say the right things that I needed to hear. Especially from him. He told me he was sorry, but that he didn’t know what to do, and maybe it was time for me to get help.

That’s when I realized something was wrong with me, because instead of crying and feeling torn up about it; I laughed. Until the tears were those produced by laughter, and not the intense sorrow as prior. To me it was the final nail in the coffin, he had let go and so he would tell me to get help. Not be there with me, as we made the journey together hand in hand. A part of me had still hoped for that to happen, but as I watched the words on the screen. The hard black on white text, I felt him slip away. Not only was him thousands of kilometers away physically, but for the first time he truly felt that far away in spirit as well. I couldn’t touch him anymore, and so I uttered the words of indifference. If he was going to tell me to get help, maybe I should. Maybe, there really was something wrong with me. I had known that for a long time, so had he, but it had never seemed to be the bigger issue. Maybe, it had to be seen like that.

The fact was; He wasn’t mine anymore, and so I had a decision to make.

Would my life be worth it without him, and should I move on and finally let him do the same thing?

I hated myself for the choices I had made in the past, such a deep searing, all-consuming hatred that I wanted to scream every time I saw my reflection. I looked like a mad person anyways, so why not act like it. The last of the walls were falling, entombing me in its ruins. I wanted to scream, but no sounds came. I felt numb, and powerless. No tears came either.

The same night, my mother tried to call me for the first time in a long time. I didn’t answer.

It took me a week to make the decision, even though to me it had already been made a long time ago. I felt like I was righting the wrong my birth had been. I was never made to grace this wonderful hell that this Earth was, and so it was time for me to return to whatever darkness I had come from.
I didn’t feel sad, I just felt the same numbness that I had always felt. Now it was mixed with headstrong determination.

I’m sorry - the text was clear and simple, I didn’t know what else to send him, yet I felt as if I needed to tell him that one last time. I just needed to say something. Something for the last time. Our last talk had been a fight, and so the words were fitting and not completely out of context. He wouldn’t realize the extent of just how sorry I was until it was too late.

I am in my bed. But it doesn’t feel like mine.

I’m leaned back against the pillows, and I don’t feel the softness of them against my skin. I don’t feel the comfort of my duvet.

My empty stare follows the room, trailing over what was once memories tucked into every nook and cranny. Now it’s no more than ash and withered pain that resides there.

There’s a roar in my ears now, earlier there was the quiet. A deafening silence.

My eyes stop at the ceiling.

I saw stars.

So many stars, in all shapes and sizes. I see the North Star, supposed to guide you when you cannot find your way home. He had been my north star.

Something tucks at my heartstrings, and I long for the quiet again. The silence goes so well with the numbness that has taken over my body.

Another roar.  

It’s the roar of my fighting heart. Thundering in my chest, trying so desperately to keep this empty vessel alive. I reach out towards the stars, trying to reach out to the only memories that haven’t been turned to ash. But my arm doesn’t move, staying splayed across my belly.

Only my eyes work. They stray towards the stars. Maybe that’s where I’ll go. My mother always told me that when we leave this world we’ll become a star. He told me I’d become stardust. Return to what made me who I was. Return to being magic.

For those we leave behind.  But mother never told me what becomes of those who had none left.

A fallen star maybe, no longer needed on the sky.

Maybe, somebody would think of me and the heavens would keep me up there.

A light.

I huffed in disagreement, but nothing left my lips. My light had been gone for a long time. Put out by those who didn’t see it flicker. Put out by those who had left. By those I had pushed away. Put out by me.  I had come to terms with that a long time ago. This hadn’t been a cry for help. Rather a cry for peace. A cry for silence in a world that kept screaming.

I laid there numb and useless. The roar of my heart fading into far between beats. My eyes still on my never faltering stars.

Was I wrong to want this? No… no matter what, wanting to be free would never be wrong.  The silence came, my numbness eternal partner finally here, sweeping me into its cold embrace.

I wanted to weep, but no tears came. I wanted to laugh, but no sound came. Yet, the calm took over. Joining hands with the silence. As a long-awaited soul-bonding. The cold calming touch soothing my bleeding heart.

I had been tired for a very long time. I had felt it in my bones, in my heart and at the bottom of my very soul. I had felt devoured. I had tried to fight, like he had told me to, but I was too tired.

This was it… the sigh never came.

The final beat of my heart sounded with a boom, rattling my tired bones, and then I felt everything. For just a moment I felt the tears on my cheeks, I felt the red on my skin and I felt my still heart.

My eyes on the stars, and everything went away. The blackness of eternity taking over everything I was.

Except the scream, that shattered the room. Shattered what was left of my world.

The scream of the one I loved.

Covered in deep red blood, you held me tight. The heart wrenching sobs mixed together with the saltness of your tears, filling the room with the burning pain. You tried to call 911, but deep in your heart you knew it was too late. The wood splinter in your hair told the story of the broken down front door. You kissed the cold, sunken cheek. Feeling nothing underneath but the memory of what used to be in there.

“Why couldn’t you have allowed me to love you”

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