I don’t like posting things that are too personal, but I just can’t take it anymore. It’s like no matter how fast I run, my past just keeps catching up to me. I fucking hate it. I really do.
Anyways, the story goes like this: His name was Andrew, and I worked with him. I remember the first time I met him, it was outside, I was biking home, and he dropped a Napoleon Dynamite reference. I hated the movie, but I laughed anyways, because he was really cute. But I couldn’t do anything. I was seventeen, just got off my first crush, and was recovering from the accompanying anorexia. I didn’t want to put myself through it again. I figured it would be for the best if I just avoided him. I was fucking poison. I didn’t deserve him. He was better off without me.
I guess it worked. He thought I was just quiet, and I pretended like I didn’t feel anything for him.
Then one day, I was finishing up so I could go home when I heard a co-worker say that Andrew was quitting. I didn’t know what was going on, but all of a sudden, it was like I was drowning. Everything was moving like it was underwater, I couldn’t breathe, and my chest felt like it had just collapsed on itself.
I went into denial. He couldn’t be leaving. But he did. On the last day, I remember getting out of the shower before work, looking in the mirror, and just melting. I pulled myself together for work, put on the happy face, pretended everything was fine, when in fact, everything was not fine, and I refused to understand why.
The one thing I haven’t forgiven myself for was that I let him leave, and he never knew how I felt. I didn’t even say goodbye. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself watch him go, because I knew I wouldn’t survive it. He put on his jacket walked out the door, and all I could think was “just look away, just look away, just look away”. And that door. That fucking door. It closed with this loud metallic bang, and I swear to God, my heart just fell down from its usual place and plummeted down.
The worst part is I couldn’t quit my job. I was stuck there, and every day, I’m reminded of what I had to let go.
That night I got home, I cried myself to sleep. I couldn’t hold it in. I cried, and I prayed that he would forget me. Forget that I ever existed. Every night that week, I dreamed that he came back, and every time I woke up, I felt like I was forcing myself to live.
It’s been three months since then. I thought I was over him. Sometimes I’ll have a dream about him, but I’ve learned to deal with it. He had his life, I had mine. They weren’t meant to be intertwined. But last night, I went to a party at my friend’s house. I figured it would be a good excuse to drink. I was there for a while, feeling alright, and then he walked in.
I never thought I would have to go through the underwater thing again. But I did. All of a sudden, everything I tried to run from found me. I left without a word. I haven’t slept all night. I can’t, because I know if I go to sleep, I’ll see him, and it’ll kill me. I’ve been trying to tell myself that it wasn’t him, but I know I’m full of shit.
I guess the one thing you’re wondering is, did I love him. I hope not. Because if I did, and I let him go, I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself.
Anyways, sorry to post this.