Lost

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Reading this is meant to me a purely emotional experience that explains one persons feeling of profound loss.

Submitted: June 29, 2017

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Submitted: June 29, 2017

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No one ever really understands profound loss, not until they experience it first-hand. I spent the past four years of my life helping people cope with and move on from loss. I studied all the literature, I aced all my exams and I knew the theories and methods behind it all but I didn’t truly understand how it felt… until now.

Pain. It’s like someone walked up to you, looked you in the eye and punched a hole in your chest. It’s like someone plunged a knife into your heart and is slowly twisting it round, and round, and round. You try to pick yourself up, you try to carry on, but everything you do is accompanied by this pain, as if someone is slowly sliding slivers of wood under your finger nails and all you can do is watch. You become a passive observer of your own life, you sit with the pain and you watch your life slowly edge by. The pain makes everything else seem distant like you are wondering around with earmuffs on. The pain doesn’t stop, even when you are smiling telling people you are fine, it’s still there. At first even your dreams aren’t safe. The pain follows you, it haunts you, but after a while your dreams become blank, and for a short while each night, its gone. But then you wake up and it’s like the knife is being plunged in all over again. Each morning you wake up and you lose them all over again. You start to wonder, what if just don’t wake up, if I don’t wake up it won’t hurt. Everyone around you tells you it will get better and at first you believe them, but after some time goes by, and the pain is still there, you begin to wonder if what they said is true. You wonder when it will start getting better, when it will stop feeling like you are trying to claw your way out of a black hole. Like no matter how hard you try to carry on, your pain and your grief keeps dragging you down. You watch everyone else’s lives go by wondering how they can carry on, how it is so easy for them to just keep going, as if nothing happened. Then you wonder why you can’t do the same.

For four years I sat on the other side of the couch, I told people that it would get better. I watched them go through the stages of grief and eventually I watched them pick themselves up and continue with their lives. And for the past two months I have felt like the biggest hypocrite in the world. For a split second a few days ago I thought how this experience would make me better at my job, then I spent the rest of the day feeling guilty about thinking about how losing him, would make me better at my job. Who thinks that… according to my therapist, still seems weird that I have a therapist, I mean I am the therapist. Anyway, according to my therapist, it’s not bad to think that way, in fact apparently its normal. I mean, I should know that, I’ve said those exact words to others enough times. Somehow I find a way to explain to myself that none of the normal boxes apply to me, that what I’m going through is SO different to what anyone else could have experience that none of the textbooks and theories could possibly apply to me. And yet, there is someone saying those exact same things to me, the exact same things I’ve said a hundred times before, but somehow it sound insanely different coming from someone else. The weirdest thing is, until the words were said to me, I believed every single one of them, and now I wonder why I ever believed them at all.

It’s strange to think that only two months ago, I was normal, my life was normal. I had a job that I loved, in a city that I loved, with a man that I loved with my entire soul. We lived in the most perfect apartment, with the cutest dog and the friendliest neighbours. My life felt as perfect as it looked, I honestly couldn’t believe how happy I was, but at the time I didn’t appreciate the happiness I just knew that that was how my life was. I didn’t appreciate it and I took it for granted, I took everything for granted. Everything about our relationship was perfect. Everything except the way it ended, not that it technically ended in the normal way relationships end, unless someone dying is the normal way relationships end, then I stand corrected.

He was the best thing that ever happened to me, before him my life was boring, don’t get me wrong it wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t great either. One second I was a boring small town girl and the next second he walked into my life and he woke me up, instead of being a boring small town girl I was a small town girl who meant everything to another person, and who had a person that meant everything to her.

Everyone says that high school sweethearts never end up together, that going to college is the kiss of death for any high school couple. Usually it ends because each person makes new friends or because there is a geographical distance between the schools they attend. Somehow the stars aligned for us and we both dreamed of attending Harvard and we both got in, we both had saved enough money to rent an apartment together, we both excelled in our respective courses and we both graduated top of our class. We both got our dream jobs in the same city, within spitting distance of our apartment. So when I say our lives were perfect, you now understand that they actually were perfect.

I am 27 years old and I have already had everything I could ever want in life. I met a boy, we fell in love, we graduated college, we got engaged, we travelled the world for a year, we got married, we bought an apartment, we got our dream jobs, and we got a puppy. I got everything I wanted, everything except growing old together, everything except sharing our lives together. We were supposed have seventy years together not ten, we were supposed to share everything and be there for each other through thick and thin. Instead I got ten years, I got to believe that I would have it all, that we would be forever, not just your forever but my forever too. I guess you got what you wanted, you got what you wanted and you left me behind. I know you didn’t do it on purpose, you would never have intentionally left me, you would never have intentionally hurt me. And honestly I’m not blaming you, I’m frustrated that I’m alone, that I have to carry on without you.

Where do I go from here? Every part of my life had you in it and now every part of my life makes me think of you and thinking of you hurts. I think about starting over, leaving it all behind and beginning again. Going somewhere where there is no you, no us, where I can build a life that won’t remind me of you every day. I then wonder what would hurt more, remembering you every day on every part of my life or leaving everything we built together behind. I never want to forget what we had, I never want to forget you, but right now the memory of you and the memory of what we had is killing me. I die a little bit every day without you, half of my heart and half of my soul died with you. Theoretically I know that I should be starting to pick up the pieces by now, I should be starting to fix myself. Even though technically it is my job, but I don’t know where to start. I’m in so many pieces right now I don’t even know how to pick them all up, let alone put them back together.

It was you… everything was you… it will always be you.


© Copyright 2017 Brynn Gale. All rights reserved.

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