Day 2 of Hell

The hole had been replaced by bricks when I woke up. It took me a while to register that I was meant to be upset this morning; it was calm and thoughtless after a night of dreaming of me and him only finding out about each others lives through facebook. But when I moved it started to hurt, like somehow I'd turned suddenly into a pro weight-lifter with abs of steel. I hit against it and it felt solid, and painful.

I'd slept right through my lectures, only waking up from my alarm telling me it was time to take my pill. A lovely reminder.

I spent my day with my sister, generally letting people know as subtly as I could - mostly texting, facebook and word of mouth. My sister helped a lot with it. I knew I wanted a change - a drastic change, and the obvious route was my hair. My sister, knowing me best, forced me to go through with the idea and got me to go get my hair done with blonde and light brown highlights. I just needed to make the change in my head physical.

It was good to be able to talk about it to a stranger without feeling like I was going to fall apart, but at the same time it makes me wonder just how much it all meant to me. Then I remember the pain, the lack of breathing, the hole and the bricks that filled it, and knew I was being stupid.

I almost laughed aloud - actually, I think I did very quietly! - when the film I was dragged to announced the main character to have the same name as my ex. I could hear my sister tentatively laughing too. "It's not my day," I said.

The film, the day out, the distractions have all helped me immensly. I'd never been more tired in my life, both mentally and physically, but now I feel wide awake, like a punp of addrenalline has been injected into my blood to help combat being alone.

I don't know how well I'll sleep tonight.

Know, the thing that keeps creeping up on me is one thought; how is he feeling? A sadistic part of me knows he is a good person but still wants him to suffer, to see him suffer, not because he's done anything wrong but because it would show that he once cared about me. In all honesty, I've been waiting for him to be hurt by me for a long time, to show I can hurt him by being hurt myself. I'm not trying to convince myself that he's sobbing, because I know in all honesty it's probably not true; I've barely seen him shed a single tear in all the time I've known him, with all the bad things that have ever happened to him. Ignorance is the hardest part; it'll take a long time for me to stop myself from wanting to reach for the phone or internet, just to ask him a few questions. Does he miss me? Does he feel bad? Does he feel guilty? Does he want me back?

I don't think I want an answer to the last one.

I think I've forgotten how to sleep

Wow, what a day.

I started it with a boyfriend and ended it without one.

He said he needed 'space' and 'freedom', and I know how much of a fan of the single life he is. I even gave him permission, almost told him to split up with me. There was no way I could keep him in a nothingness relationship; I love him too much. Or I loved him. I'm not sure which one I'm going for yet, which one I can bring myself to say more.

I remember when it hit, the way my body just buckled over. I thought I was going to die, my heart raced so fast I could hear it and feel it in my wrists. I couldn't breath, gasping for breath over and over so I thought it was going to end.

It was easy when my flatmates were here. Almost too easy. I knew what was lying around the corner when I would be left alone, when it was time for me to sleep - but I couldn't bare to think about that. My brain rejected it, shielding me as it does if the thoughts of any loved ones dying comes to mind.

I kept grasping my neck, trying to hold onto the necklace he'd made for me. Instead my hand always fell straight to where my heart should be.

I replaced the necklace, desperate for something to fiddle with. I got rid of the photos and memorabilia mostly for his sake, mostly because I wouldn't like the idea of having someone else having those things other than the one who you love; the one who is yours. Personally, I was ready to keep them, flood out the memories and tackle them all at once, burn them away from harm. I'm mostly still doing that.

I had a picture I drew on the wall of him in his room. It had lots of other pictures, showing the distance between us, but they'd all fallen down. I kept the picture up, writing in big letters over the top 'Not Everything Has a Solution', one of the last things he said that really stuck in my mind. Leave it to the maths-geek to believe something like that.

I tried to sleep, but can't stay in bed for more than a few minutes before re-reading my book, going to the bathroom, checking my mobile, and finally going on the computer.

The thing that got me - and I have no idea why - was imagining his hands on my shoulders, rubbing them to relax me. He rarely did this, and even when he did I mostly only liked it because it was him, definitely not because he was particularly skilled at it. The image made me convulse, literally, as I had to jump out of bed.

It feels like an organ has been ripped from my body. Strangely, it doesn't feel like my heart, but right between my heart and my stomach, where the rib cage separates, there's a big hole. I feel like digging my nails into my chest, trying to rip into the hole, but for what? To remove it? How do you remove a hole without filling it?

04.09am, with next to no chance of sleep in the near future.

I wish I could die, or suddenly be dead, but I wouldn't want that. As foolish as it sounds, I'm still here for his best interest, and I couldn't bare to think what would be running through his mind if I died hours after he'd split up with me. But I want to rip out the hole.

My mind keeps wandering to hope; hope of his return, namely. Hope he'll see the 'error' of his ways. These kill me more than all the rest of the pain. If I let myself believe for one second that he would come back then I'd be waiting for an eternity, never healing.

I'd be stuck like this forever.