Emailing that Dang Death to Love Man

Okay, so here’s the deal…

You can’t treat me like I’ve stolen your puppy or run over your foot in my car. Why are you acting like I destroyed you? I told you how I felt when we last spoke and my world forever changed. Without any thought to how I feel or what I’m going through, you act like you’re hurt. Are you really going to say that you are the victim here? Do you know or even care how I feel? I told you that I needed space and time because I knew the rules of this situationship when we met. I knew. But, somehow I couldn’t stay within my lane and I caught feelings. I wasn’t trying too. I was trying to take it for what it was. Casual dating.

I told you last week that my spirit was in turmoil and that I wasn’t sleeping or eating because I knew it was time I got off this merry go round. I was a wreck this weekend and I kept breathing and saying, “I need to take this one day at a time”. One second becomes one minute which becomes one hour until I can make it through the day. I told my friends that I did the impossible and ended it with you. I told them that it hurts. They replied, “I know, but I love you and it will get easier.”

I told my family that I had fallen in love with someone who I wasn’t ready to introduce to them but we broke up. I said, “He doesn’t love me and I can’t breathe because it hurts like hell.” My sister replied for me to repeat after her “We don’t love them ho*s”. I laughed with tears in my eyes and sighed, “But, I do.” My mother told me, “Baby, I’m sorry, but I never thought I would survive your break up at 15 when you overdosed on pills and slit your wrists. Hell, I never thought you would survive it. But, you did. If you could survive that you can survive anything.” I told her, “I know I will survive. It just hurts like hell.”

Again, I wallowed in my pain and bathed in my heartache praying for peace. My plea to you to stop calling me wasn’t because I don’t want to be your friend or be in your life. It was because I don’t have the strength to stop talking to you. Because I’m weak. I want to know how you’re doing. I want to hear your voice and know that you are okay. I want to laugh about stupid stuff or whatever. It’s my problem. I know. I’m not blaming you. I just need time to get my head on straight and be able to truly be your friend without having these feelings for you. I owe it to myself to choose me first.

So, I will do what I do best and journal my pain. I wish only the best for you and know that you are in my prayers and thoughts always. Only time can heal this chasm of pain.

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Death to Love

Today I wrote the final line in my obituary. I wrote with such force and finality that it scared me. My pen flourished on the paper as I wrote that I need time and space. Time and space to just figure this thing out. To get my head back on straight. To adjust to my new reality.

So many excuses for why things can’t be, but the truth is simply that I love someone who doesn’t and won’t love me. I sift through my emotions and watch my tears drip on the paper as I journal the pain. I know that it is my own issue. I don’t know how to separate fantasy from reality. The reality that love don’t live here. It never has. But, I wanted to make believe that you and me could be a we. Why?

Because it was wonderful in my fantasy. It was safe. It was nourishing and warm. It strengthened me in ways that I didn’t imagine. This fantasy allowed me to laugh at the silly things, feel safe in your arms and strong in your encouragement. We existed in this fantasy. Our hearts beating in synchronized and harmonized rhythm until…

I realized that my heart beat was the only one that could be heard. I was imagining the strong and steady beat of my soul mate. It was comforting until I wrote that damn obituary and realized that the only thing I heard was silence.

I just stood there crying because heartbreak was nothing new to me. Pain was a constant in my life. Hell I survived childhood and motherhood. Grief was something I had experienced before, but this pain was new to me. It was a cross between an ax chopping my heart in two and someone pouring battery acid on the still beating half. You get it right? It was…

Destructive. I watched the destruction of a dream. I loved and lost within a span of months. The dream to experience love in the purest and sexiest form as an adult. But, that dream was dead before I even closed my eyes. So, I wrote out my obituary and entitled it “Death to Love”.

It said:

Suddenly on February 20, 2015, I departed this earth. I died. Not in the physical sense, but in the emotional sense. I stopped believing in love after confessing my feelings to the man I had dated for almost a year. I opened up my soul and poured out my heart and he just sat there. No words. No emotions. Just silence. After shouting out that I fearlessly and uncontrollably loved this man and needed him to be patient with me and love me beyond measure, I realized that I was alone. Alone in this boat that he told me to ride with him and just go with the damn flow. As I poured out my heart and told him that love was foreign to me and not something I share freely with men. I listened for confirmation or affirmation that it was mutual. But there was none. Only silence. No words. So, I laughed and let him go and went home and drank a glass of wine so big that Olivia Pope would have been envious. I wrote this obituary before turning into bed and realizing that sleep would be futile. That rest would not come. My heart ached something awful and I died.

Later as I lay on the cold table in the morgue and reflected on the quietness of my mind I heard the radio playing. Someone had turned on Pandora. I heard “Step Aside” by Yolanda Adams. I heard her sing, “You have to let go and let God be God”. I gasped in air as though I had never breathed before. The pain was insurmountable but a peace was settling in my spirit.

I got up off the cold table and wrapped my body in a blanket and showered. I took the hottest shower and soaped up and washed off all the troubles of this world because I knew that I would survive. Because on that love river that I traveled God had given me a life vest and my momma had taught me how to swim.

By Faith on Soar

My latest short story was published on one of my favorite websites. I originally wrote it to end the way I wrote it, but the response to write a second part has been overwhelming. I am extremely happy that people like it and they want to know what happens next. Please read it and give me your feedback.

It’s called By Faith and you can check it out here

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