Diary Entry from November:
In these last days I find myself counting things. Backwards, going down to one, then zero.
Twelve meals left.
Two trips to the grocery store left.
Ten days left before my significant other and I part ways.
2,354 days of unconditional, persevering, and enduring love coming to an end in ten days.
Why did I do this?
It’s not too late, I can stop this.
But what is the right thing to do?
Fix this, get past the immense pain, learn to forgive myself and rebuild this life we built together?
Or let him go, so he can meet the person he actually deserves?
Can love be rekindled?
Can we grow apart, go on our separate paths, grow and perhaps become different people, and somehow, miraculously, hopefully, come together again?
It’s the first Christmas in six years where I wake up alone.
This time, there is no Christmas tree decked with all the old baubles accumulated with memories, even the broken ornaments, and underneath, the presents marked with our names.
For six years, I got used to having my name under a tree, along with names of his family.
Before then, I never had that.
Because of him, I got to experience a truly wholesome Christmas – waking up early and shuddering in the cold, tiptoeing with glee with creaking wood following our footsteps to the tree, seeking our names in the resplendent mound of presents overflowing with bows, glitter, and all the green-and-red, waiting for the rest of the household to stir and gather by the tree.
Oh, how did it come to this?
I’m back in my old room again – my childhood room with cracks in the walls – drinking alone and dreading the morning; dreading the emptiness and the echoing silence, the small talks, and the sad attempts to force the festivities of this truthfully lonely holiday.
It will be a small Christmas – one that I’ve grown up with – an awkward dinner with my mother, followed by us retreating to our separate rooms to be alone.
I know that is a blessing in itself. At least I am warm. At least I have food. At least I still have my parents, even though our relationship is complex and strained.
I hate the holidays. The pageantry of forced cheer and expectations – all of it – I hate all of it.
I know it’s supposed to be a time when I reflect on things that I have, but I find myself ruminating on what I do not have.
In these days I find myself coiling tighter into myself and collapsing – after all, despair is too familiar and comfortable – sinking in self loathing, anguish, and wondering if the light on the horizon is worth chasing.
When I’m not on Facebook, I find myself browsing the same Google search results, the links marked purple, hoping to find an easy way out. Carbon monoxide. Potassium cyanide. Death by falling.
They are all terrifying and I cannot muster the courage.
I brought this on myself, as I always have.
Because I am a wildfire; a harbinger of destruction – when I’m not destroying wholesome things around me, including people I love, I am destroying myself.
I have the right to destroy myself.
New Year’s Eve:
So, I am alone again. My first thought when I woke up today.
I still wake up, thinking that when I turn my head, he would be there.
I did this. I have only myself to blame.
2017 was the best year of my life. Then it ended the worst way possible.
I went through a major transformation, finally broke through my depression and anxiety, and threw myself into new experiences through which I met amazing people who quickly became cherished and reliable anchors in my life. I grew exponentially this year, emotionally, mentally, and physically – becoming a better person and progressing rapidly in all my pursuits. I even continued old hobbies that I ditched a long time ago. I’ve never felt so motivated and empowered.
But I had to say goodbye. I bid farewell to those that mattered the most in my life.
I said goodbye to my beloved pet, who died unexpectedly over the summer. I still grieve for her. I can still remember her soft fur, her small body radiating warmth and unadulterated contentment. I also remember how stiff and unreal she felt after she departed. Those juxtaposing memories are now intertwined and inseparable.
I said goodbye to the love of my life, who was by my side for 9 years. Three years as best friends, six years as inseparable partners. Nine years of adventures and a lifetime of memories. I closed that chapter too.
I said goodbye to my independent life away from my parents in Brooklyn, my brand new apartment, and the stability I’ve grown accustomed to, to move back home to Queens.
I’m back to square one.
What is waiting for me on the horizon? A new love? New adventures? New achievements? They all seem so superficial and puerile.
It all seems so meaningless.
What am I doing here?
Wavering. Oscillating. Perpetually between extreme emotional states; roaring and leaping with euphoria and an overflowing love for life and my dear friends, then spiralling into the abyss and wishing for complete oblivion.
Ah, but I must push forward.
Because one thing that I hate the most is indecision and stasis. Being a person of extremes, I must either extinguish my fire or fuel it.
Lacking the courage to extinguish it, leaning on the people who love and support me still, and being hopeful for the future, I choose to fuel my fire.