I'm at the point now where I am having dreams - no, nightmares really - anxiety attacks while I'm sleeping - of "getting my stuff back". That whole shenanigan when people have to exchange belongings that they no longer share with one another. I need my things back, but somehow in my mind, that is when it will have completely sunk in. The fact will have sunk in that I did everything that I could do and still couldn't allow myself an inch to creep back to him. The fact will have sunk in that I lost friends and time and opportunities for almost 3 years for something I clung to with every last ounce of emotional strength I had, hoping against all odds that it would work out - that at some point, all the bad things would go away and all that would remain were the good things, the great things, the things that kept me there so long in the first place.

I have nightmares - seeing a representation of my former self with him as my present self goes to collect my things. My outrage at finding him with someone else, even though I am with someone else. The double-standard of "how dare he?!" and "who does he think he is?". Honestly, I hope it fucking hurts. I hope the pain of my loss kills. I'm not that lucky, not lucky enough that karma will be a bitch for all of the wrongs done me in the past years.

I deserve to be happy. To be loved, To be cared for. To be protected. To be cherished. To be desired. I used to think it selfish of me to want for anything. It is selfish, love is selfish, but not in a bad way. I counted my new relationship as a blessing because the interest this man showed in me and the extent of it gave me the final clarity I needed to say "enough", to say "if you can't be this for me, then there are other people who can". I didn't ask for much, I don't think. I asked for time. I asked for affection and attention. I asked for commitment. What was readily given me in the beginning was withheld from me for over a year. I made life-altering decisions partially based on the strength of that old relationship and everything that I poured in, all of the effort that I put forth to make it work and make someone else happy ultimately was for naught. They say that surest way to find happiness is to make others happy. That didn't work for me.

It seems to be working for me now. Like a big, glorious Band-Aid it's working for me. All of the resentment and anger that beat the love out of my heart have been quelled for the most part, hidden in some small corner out of sight and mind. But it's times like these, when I am alone with my thoughts, that it creeps out and makes me feel as though things are still unresolved. It scares me and haunts me. I fear that if I ever have to face him again it will just come ripping and tearing its way out of my chest - and there I'll be, the happily-masked husk of who I appear to be that was finally consumed by the pain in my heart. He could be happy. I won't know - and that thought burns, not only because I won't know how he feels, but also because it is very likely that he is happy or happier without me.