Introspect

Moch wrote something on her blog about me, I think it was about me, she said my heart had been splintered into a thousand pieces and sometimes I wished I could forget.

That is only partly truthful, my heart has been splintered into a thousand pieces but I don't wish I could forget. I wish I could sleep, I wish I could eat, I wish I could find the other half of myself and bring him back, but I don't wish I could forget.

I tried last week to write, I started and five pages later I stopped, I posted some of it here and then I deleted it, I wrote;

'she remembered a night, not so long ago, she couldn't sleep, she whispered in the dark, he gathered her up in his arms, he stroked her hair, he said 'now you can', and she did'.

Now there is empty space, in my heart and in the house that used to be my home, nothing stops the thoughts that race over and over each other in my head, the conversations that repeat themselves, the wishing and the wishing and the regretting and the regretting.

I did a terrible thing, a thing I will always regret, a thing which makes me vomit and choke and fall, a thing which removes speech and hunger and sleep. It defies logic and reason and no one will ever know how sorry I am or how sad, how could they? There are no words to describe it.

I hear stories, of people who got through this, and I hear stories of people who did not. I want to scream and scream and scream, I want to shout at everyone who tells me things will heal in time, I want to shout that no one listening to me, that there is nothing in me to heal, there's just empty space and I can't breathe. My heart was broken, a long time ago, it was splintered into pieces by disease and self hate, and now it has gone.