Losing you

It's like I've lost a part of myself, when I lose myself completely and can't find my way back without guidance. Maybe not even with, cause maybe there is no way back. I look at him and I wonder. For the first time, a thought slipped into my head: why can't I stop loving you? I've never wanted that, I didn't think that I did. Perhaps the pain is finally exceeding what is wonderful about it.

And now as I see clear, or clearer at least, I think new insights are possible. That I'm not so blinded anymore. The risk of becoming "safe" with emotions is that they may fade. I don't want them to fade, it would be like losing you. Though I never had you to begin with, and with no intention of owning you, it still feels like I'm losing you somehow. When in fact, I'm only losing some of those feelings. I hope not, I want to cling to them, I need to whether I'd like to or not.

I have to because they are my life force now and they always were. That thing that I wrote earlier about them being essential for my survival. And even though I'm much stronger now, I can't take the risk. I may fear the weirdest things, but I think I have good reasons to. Past experiences, for instance.

Though I didn't die last time, it was a hell to get through and I know I did everything wrong, but I did what I could at the time being. I might as well have died, you know. Cause something inside me did. It was like a part of my soul was brutally ripped out at the same time as my heart was broken. When suicide was the only option. Five times I tried, but I don't know, it was like I gave up after that. Like I just understood that it was out of my power, that I couldn't control destiny or what happened to me. In the past or the future. The destiny that I never wanted to believe in, cause it was so cruel.

That little relapse into the suicidal drama I had last summer really had nothing to do with love. It was only fear, and I tried to escape a horrible future. I was in love already, as I clinged to his picture and hesitated to mention him in my suicide letter. Thinking I didn't want him to know if I died, that it would put a terrible burden and sorrow on his part. I'm considerate that way.

No, it's like love is my drug to survival, ironically. Cause it's also my ticket to death, but it's two sides of a coin, you know. I think a lot of things work that way, that you can always turn them up-side-down and they become their opposite. The cure becomes a poison so easily. Love is so fragile that way, I've come to realise. And dreams are too.

So what can I do, but to hope that my love for him won't become my poison? I still have so much to learn, and I want to know about the good sides of love. I crave it so intensively, but all I've ever had are impossible dreams and chanceless hopes. Hence why I almost always tag these kind of entries with both "hope" and "hopelessness" cause it's always a sting of both.

Yeah, I feel as though I will never experience that. True love. Cause no matter who I fall in love with it's always the wrong person, cause either they have the wrong sexual orientation or they're already seeing someone or they live 100 miles away. Or heck, why not all three for a change?

No, I will never fall in love again. If that means cutting myself off from humanity all together, then so be it. I've had enough of unrequited love for a lifetime or maybe even two. I don't even know for sure if this is unrequited, I leave that option open for just a little longer. Cause you never know until you know. And I don't know, not for sure. The problem is though that I don't want to know. It is not an option that I want to cross over on my pending list of eternal doom, you know what I'm saying?

Perhaps I'm not so clear in all my scribbles sometimes, I can get a little fast with the keyboard sometimes, now when I write as fast in English as in Swedish it can get kinda wild. What I meant is that if he was to tell me it's never gonna happen, I'm sure that I will fall and I won't be coming back. Ever. That last fall which of course will be both figuratively and literally meant and I will make sure I won't survive it. Jump high enough and there will be nothing left but meat loaf. But enough about my wild fantasies, which I shouldn't share that often, it's creepy.

So yeah... I'm planning my own death but at the same time I don't want to do it. It's just that I know that it has to be done. That there is no ther way. And I hope that I won't need to in a very long time, but I don't think it will be in such a long time. I've been keeping that part from my shrinks, but only because I don't want to be marked off as another hopeless case. I know I need whatever help they can give me in the form of pills and meetings. And I've been meaning to take up that dealing with past traumas kinda shit, but I just can't muster it. It's tearing me apart just thinking about it, so how the hell can I bring it up? And no, I can't tell my mother to tell them, cause I can't muster that either. One day... one day I might.

I got off track, sorry. I just can't find a way to finish this entry, cause there is no finish, there is no punch line. It just goes on and on and sometimes on hold and sometimes stronger, but it never ends. Maybe all I can say is that love will tear me apart, one day or another.