Disassembled.

I don’t know who I am today. I really don’t. Been going through the motions. I’m vacated. I struggle to find a formal feeling. I am abandoned to the emptiness. It wasn’t what I expected it to be, and it totally has invalidated anything I felt about living in that house. He made it not seem so scary. But I make it seem scary. Am I wrong? Am I overdramatizing it? I didn’t want a relationship with him anyways. And that’s exactly what I got. Ambivalence. Indifference. An “it doesn’t matter to me” attitude. I feel so empty and I know think what I have to do is stop the charade. If things weren’t as bad as they seem then I’m not as sick as I feel and I don’t need therapy anymore. I need to quit imagining things. I don’t know but the whole thing has made me feel less connected, not more connected, if that was even possible. I know less of who I am, and that was a hard thing to accomplish. Dealing with the past is foolishness. I’m still picking out the shrapnel. I was hoping time would make these creepy crawly skins go away. But they’re still here. A residual effect of the meeting. I won’t believe anything I say ever again. I know I left looking like the fool. I just feel the most vacuous hole in my heart ever, and I seriously wonder if I can breathe. The next breath seems misplaced and unimportant.

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