Dear friends
Six months. It's been six months and I think of you every day. Both of you. I think back to who I was to you, and how I failed to appreciate what you gave me - and how I failed to offer the same in return. I fear every day I get closer to the end of my story; I'm unsure how to finish it without you.
I think about all the things I said and did, all the things I should've said and done but didn't, and all the things I fear I'll never get to say. Most of all, I think about how I miss everything that you are and everything you were to me. I think about how I'd sacrifice anything to bring it all back.
My therapist says I'm dealing with a form of grief. That would make sense. As much as I hate to admit it, I am simultaneously experiencing denial and bargaining and anger. I refuse to accept you're gone. To this day, I desperately hope for an opportunity at repair. To this day, I tell myself there is a certain combination of words in a certain order that could fix this. And to this day, against what I know to be my better judgement, I am angry and confused at how you could leave me when I needed you most. When my life was already falling apart before my eyes as everything I thought to be true about myself turned out not to be, I was abandoned. You abandoned me.
I don't blame you, not really. It's not your fault and I don't resent you for your decisions. I'm mostly angry at myself for letting things get to a point where you felt that decision was necessary at all. But I'm allowed to feel how I feel, and this is how I feel. I'm not sorry that this situation doesn't make me feel happy and at peace, because it doesn't. It does anything but.
But I'm sorry things worked out this way.