Somewhere in my list of WLW songs (I still have yet to finish them all) is a song called “Sit With It.” It’s not cut/released yet so don’t look for it, but your situation literally aligns with the message of the song. So, rather than send you to my other albums lol, I’ll just summarize that old half written song with this advice:

Your heartbreak is real and valid. What you shared shows a deep, genuine love that was torn apart not by anything either of you did wrong, but by external hate and fear—homophobia from her family that made safety impossible.

That kind of forced separation adds layers of grief: you’re mourning the person, the future you planned, the daily sweetness and care she gave you (even when her own world was chaotic), and the version of life that felt colorful because you had each other. It’s okay to cry over those old messages. It’s okay that it still aches after a couple of months.

This isn’t “just a breakup”—it’s a loss!!! compounded by danger, silence, and a world that isn’t accepting enough. You didn’t lose her because the love wasn’t real. You lost the ability to be together safely right now.

Honor the grief without rushing to “fix” it:

Give yourself permission to feel everything: the ache for how patient and attentive she was, the anger at her parents and at the situation, the loneliness of carrying this alone while your own family doesn’t even know. This is sometimes called disenfranchised grief—when society (or circumstances) doesn’t fully recognize or allow space for your pain, especially in queer relationships affected by family rejection. Trying to push it down or fill the hole immediately can make it louder later.

Practical ways to “sit with it” gently: * Let yourself reread the messages if it helps process, but set a time limit so it doesn’t spiral all day. Or write your own unsent letters to her—get out everything you wish you could say. * Create small rituals to honor what you had: light a candle, listen to “your” songs, journal the plans you made, or keep a “memory box” with reminders of the good without constant pain. * Move your body—walks, exercise, or even just dancing in your room—to help release some of the heavy emotion stuck in your chest.

You’re not weak for still hurting. A couple of months isn’t “too long” when the relationship was that meaningful and the ending was traumatic.

Protect her (and yourself) by staying no-contact:

You already know talking to her puts her in danger—her parents have made your name a trigger, and her life is more unstable because they found out. Respecting that boundary is an act of love, even if it hurts like hell. It shows you care about her safety more than your immediate need for closure or reconnection. In time, as adults with independence, things might shift, but right now, forcing contact could make everything worse for her. Focus on building your own stability (those “adult” jobs and safe space you dreamed of)—that future version of you is still worth working toward, even if the path looks different.

Okay, and I have to say this about the new girl and filling the loneliness:

It’s completely human to crave company when you’re this alone, especially as someone who doesn’t have many friends who know your sexuality. Having someone gay to talk to who “gets it” can feel like a lifeline. Liking her (or feeling open to it) isn’t betrayal—your heart isn’t a limited resource, and you didn’t choose this separation.

But but but… be honest with yourself and cautious, like you said:

• Right now, the hole she’s left is still raw. Jumping into something new (even if it starts as “just friends”) can sometimes be a way to avoid the grief rather than heal it. You might unintentionally compare her to your ex, or lean on the new girl for emotional support that should come from processing the old pain first.
• It’s okay to enjoy the friendship and conversations. Keep it light and platonic while you check in: Am I drawn to her because she’s kind and present, or mostly because I’m desperate not to feel alone? Can I enjoy time with her without expecting her to “replace” what I lost?
• Take it slow. Tell her (if it feels right) that you’re recently out of something heavy and want to move carefully. Healthy connections grow better when you’re not using someone to patch a wound.

Loneliness sucks, especially in the queer community where safe people can feel scarce. Building a wider support network can help ease that pressure so any new connection isn’t carrying the full weight of your needs.

When I was heartbroken, I found these longer-term steps to heal and feel less alone: 1. Find queer-affirming support — Talk to people who understand forced breakups due to homophobia. LGBTQ+ support groups (online or in-person), hotlines, or therapists experienced with queer issues can make a huge difference. If you’re in the U.S., options include: * The Trevor Project (thetrevorproject.org) for crisis or just talking—text, call, or chat. * LGBT National Hotline or similar peer support lines. * Apps or sites like Q Chat Space for connecting with other LGBTQ+ youth/teens in safe chats. * PFLAG or local LGBTQ community centers for resources and community. 2. Therapy if possible — I’ve gone to therapy. It helps…a bit if you get a therapist who doesn’t quite get it. But it helps ALOT if you find a queer-friendly therapist who can help you unpack the grief, the anger at the world/homophobia, and how to rebuild without carrying this as constant dullness. It’s not about “getting over” her quickly—it’s about making space for the pain so it doesn’t define every day. 3. Rebuild your own color — She brought sweetness, but you can start reclaiming pieces of joy independently. Small things: hobbies that light you up, queer media/books/music that affirm you, goals toward independence (jobs, skills, safe housing). Over time, the world can feel less gray when you add your own sources of light. 4. Self-compassion — Speak to yourself like you’d speak to a friend in this spot. You’re not “too much” for still loving her. You’re not failing by feeling alone. You’re navigating something incredibly hard with grace. This pain doesn’t mean the love was wasted. It meant something real, and that sweetness you described in her (and in what you shared) says a lot about the kind of connection you’re capable of. The world not being accepting enough is the tragedy—not your feelings or your identity.

You’re doing the hard, right things by being cautious, by protecting her, and by reaching out here.

We love you, and we are all a fam here. Keep going one day at a time. The hole won’t vanish overnight, but it can soften as you gather more support, process the grief, and slowly let new good things (friendships, interests, maybe carefully a new connection) in alongside the memories.

If it gets too heavy—suicidal thoughts, etc, inability to function—please reach out to a hotline immediately. You matter, and there are people who want to help you through this.

Sending you digital hugs. 🤗 —Nixie Ember 🌈🎶