Attempting Betterment? in Questioning Everything

I deleted our messages a couple of days ago. The guy I talked about. In trying to distract myself from Papa, I keep coming to a different source of pain that somehow seems worse. I think it feels worse because he is still around to miss, though I guess that kind of sounds a bit dark.

I just want to try to move on faster. Last time someone I was close to left, I took about two years to figure things out, and it only stopped because he came around and chased away the darkness. Now the darkness is back and it is really strong.

This person was the only one I could actually talk to. About anything. I felt comfortable and happy. He left when things started going south in my life and I really needed him there.

I only kept holding on so long because I wanted him to get his birthday message. I still wait until midnight to write a long paragraph for someone on their birthday. Just so they wake up to something nice.

So, while I could not sleep because insomnia really sucks, I stared at his icon. It was a picture he sent me on Halloween of his “One Day Change.” That’s what we called it. He had a plaid shirt on with jeans and a nice tie. It looked adorable.

I sat there for five minutes, at least, just staring at everything, thumb hovering over the delete messages button. When my thumb finally went down, I cried hard. I cried about all the things I never told him. He did not even know about Papa’s cancer, because that was when he started drifting away, and I did not want to burden him with my issues.

I never saw him watch a sunset. That hurts the most. We kept talking about going and seeing one together because of my obsession with the sky.

I have not deleted his contact yet. I want to see how things turn out if he and his brother come back to swim. It would be awkward if for some reason he tried texting me and I responded, “Who is this?” I doubt that will happen, but I also think it would hurt too much to be getting rid of everything.

Now I am pretty alone. I mean, I have friends, but none that actually listen. I know I could talk to my swim team about it, but since he is a part of it, it would get weird. Plus, I feel okay with my team. It is such a happy place that bad things never really come up. And when they do, something hilarious happens before anything is said.

I just wish I had someone to talk to other than a therapist. As great as she is, she is not around all the time. And I always have the thought of how she is paid to listen to all of my babbling. It is her job. If it was not, I doubt anything would be shared. I am too incompetent in social situations that my parents pay someone to listen and talk to me. It is sad.

I miss late night calls and random messages, spontaneous hugs and smiles. All of it. This is why we have books. Fictional people cannot leave me if they are not real in the first place. I will bury my pain and issues away while I envelop myself in somebody else’s world.

Last updated April 21, 2020