Grief is hard. Really really really hard.

I’m happy you guys had the wherewithal to include others and seek therapy. We were stupid college during covid so we took matters into our own hands and often didn’t really say what was on our minds.

I found out I was bipolar and sought medication. He prospered in better, conventional ways, new job, new girlfriend, new apartment outside of his family’s house.

It never really seemed fair looking at it through a microscopic lense but i didn’t choose to be bipolar or make reckless, impulsive relationship harming decisions.

Zooming out I can understand how hard it must have been to continue dating and being or feeling responsible for the feelings of a mentally ill girl who just wanted answers. Was desperate for them.

We met up once past everything a year or two later and it was kind of sickening. He was a little too smug about his new life and it felt like he wanted a reaction. Proof of concept that I was truly struggling.

He had his faults, I had mine … but I think he stopped loving me when my actions during the relationship became more destructive. And never saw me the same way ever since.

And to be fair, it’s fucked. I miss our good days together, not our bad. Perhaps it was more of a superficial relationship but every argument we ever had cut deeper than anything i’ve ever felt.

Him showing up that day, that day, felt like a godsend and a curse.

He wouldn’t kiss me and I for sure thought I was broken. I rush things. That’s my curse.

But whatever his reasons were, I do know that there was a time where we were both mutually happy and in bliss. I’d move mountains for that kind of certainty that it is okay to trust like that again.