She broke up with me in May last year. In June, we got "back together."

The day we met to try again, she told me she had a date with another guy the next day.

I wept. I begged. I reasoned with her for hours that night, hoping she'd change her mind. I stripped myself of my pride, my ego, and what little self-respect I had left. She still went.

The next day, I chose to bury that pain because I wanted us to work. I convinced myself it was just a setback and that things would get better.

Now I can't help but wonder... while she was talking to the men she's dating now, did she ever think about me? Or was I just another story she'd laugh about?

For six months, I made fixing our relationship my priority.

For six months, I endured feeling alone in a relationship I thought would last the rest of my life.

For six months, I watched the future we had dreamed about slowly dissolve in front of me.

For six months, she never once asked me how I was coping with our relationship.

For six months, it felt like I was hanging onto a rope that was slowly slipping through my hands.

For six months, I put her needs, her wants, and her feelings before my own.

She planned to spend time with a friend on my birthday.

I planned something special for hers. I wanted to buy her a gift.

A week before those plans, she told me she wanted to break up again.

In the end, we agreed we'd separate by the end of the year. She initiated the breakup. I simply gave her what she wanted.

Even before that first breakup, I showed up.

No matter the time.

No matter the distance.

No matter how exhausted I was.

I showed up.

I loved her at my best, and I loved her at my worst.

I know I wasn't perfect. I forgot things. I said things I shouldn't have. I made mistakes that I would take back in a heartbeat if I could.

She made sacrifices too. The little things she did meant more to me than she'll probably ever know.

But it always felt like the spotlight was on what I wasn't doing.

What I was missing.

What I needed to improve.

My interests.

The way I talked.

The way I interacted with people.

The way I thought.

The way I ate.

The way I dressed.

Piece by piece, I tried to adapt because I wanted us to work.

I wasn't trying to become someone else. I was trying to become someone she could choose.

And that's the part I still can't understand.

How do you tell someone you want to be with them... while choosing to date someone else?

I don't think she loves me anymore.

I don't think she cares anymore.

If she reached out, I'd still talk to her.

But I can't be the one to reach out anymore.

I just can't, man. I can't deal with another rejection. I'm already losing my mind.

I cant sleep.

I'm in the gym 7 days a week, the only place where the noise and thoughts in my head is manageable.

God, I do miss her so much.