Entangled

I need to get the thoughts out of my head. All these thoughts are made up of too many words and there’s not enough space here. Every night it feels like my head is melting, every night for over a year now. The mental stress has turned to physical aches. It use to be you I could talk to, talk to so regularly the words wouldn’t pile up like the weeks worth of laundry I can’t sort either.

It’s another one of those nights. Another night the sleeping pills never fully worked. A dull sleepiness against sharp anguish.

What are we? What were we? If I tell my story to anyone I already know what they’ll say. They’ll say the same things I would say to them. The things I’d say to someone that I cared about in my position. They worry, and they don’t like you. I’d say to leave the situation, to focus on yourself. Find something to enjoy and work on, to busy yourself. Be single. Be free. Find yourself. All of this sounds simple, but it’s not. It would be had I not allowed myself to be cut off from my support groups, from my hobbies and interests. From the things I’d focus on. Those support groups are worth more than gold. The very supportive circles I encouraged you to be apart of, to keep trying to find and create for yourself. The same support you would eventually find as mine ironically would become drained.

Our story is unique, or so I always told myself. It contains many exigent variables and obstacles, like the giant pond between us that always feels impossible to cross. The love that grew despite the distance. No book I’d ever read or movie I’d ever watched had ever portrayed us. What we had to my knowledge was undocumented, meaning no guides for how to proceed. Even now I’m unsure if I speak about us in present or past tense. This writing will be awkward and crude, but I’d like to tell my half first.