Dear Diary (27/11): He's still fucking with me.

He’s gone. He is gone. He’s been gone for a while now, three, nearly four, months. But, why does everything still ache? Like he’s pissed on all my clothes, and no matter how many times I wash them? They still fucking stink.

A cool bird illustration with no relation to the text. This one's a hoopoe.

I’m with someone new. I’m living somewhere new. I’m not even in the same country as him. Yet, shit that he did to me? It still lingers. Like an invisible scar right on the tip of your nose, just where you, and the whole fucking world, can see it.

A phrase I always thought should be used more to describe feelings: I want to explode. I use it all the time, and I don’t think anyone ever quite understands what I mean. What I mean, is, my feelings are so big that they are literally pulling at my skin. Like my jejunum could just pop out at any minute. Kind of like a full body hernia. And, I know it sounds like I’m speaking metaphorically, but, I’m not. These are genuine sensations my body experiences when I’m having intense emotions.

Physically? My shoulders tense, my hands shape into claws. I am definitely stimming. But, sensation wise? Full body hernia probably describes it pretty aptly.

And, right now? My emotions feel wild. From my brain, down to the tiny capillaries in my feet, they all feel like they’re about to burst out. Like my skin is nowhere near big enough to hold me in.

The trouble is, sometimes I don’t even know why I’m feeling like that. Luckily, this time? I do.

It’s him. Not, new guy. New guy is brilliant. Incredible. No, him. 

You see, I’ve not heard from him since I changed my relationship status on Facebook. Yet, every single time I take a breath that’s my own, that’s not shared by someone else? I feel that familiar twinge of guilt.

Or, every time new guy leaves me on read, or even when he does reply, and it’s not quite warm enough, that thought crosses my mind. I must have done something wrong.

Why can’t I shake it off? Why won’t he just leave me the fuck alone? I’m trying. I am really trying. But it’s like peeling off superglue.

Even when I can recognise that it’s just his echo, the feeling is still there. Unpleasant. Unwelcome.

And then, and then… I get angry. Really fucking angry. Like, he broke me. He broke me into a million tiny pieces without even trying. And, anything that has been broken into that many pieces? It will never be the same again. Never. There will always be a chip missing, or maybe a crack still showing, no matter how much glue or paint you try to fill it with.

So, how can I ever expect someone to think I am truly beautiful? Because, I can sure as hell confirm that there is far more than one crack showing. And, I know, I know, there’s the cliches. The Japanese art where they repair the cracks with gold, the fact that broken things can be beautiful too, blah. Blah. Blah. But, no one truly sees an untarnished, beautifully crafted plate, and goes, oh, that’s not good enough, why isn’t it chipped?

Sure, whatever. Maybe broken things can be beautiful. But, they’re still not the same. I will never be the same. And, we were together for four years, I don’t want to be exactly the same as I was when I was seventeen. But, I want my spark back.

And, I wonder, constantly wonder, what would have happened if I hadn’t been with him? Would I be more me? Would I have just ended up with some other asshole? My self esteem was very low at seventeen, and, unfortunately for me, he used that to his advantage. He kept it low. As low as he could, while we were together. Would I be more confident, now? Would I manage better?

But, then, I think. God, if I hadn’t have been with him – I would have never got the new birds. R and L were nothing to do with him. P and S, though? Wouldn’t have been able to.

No-one can afford to live alone as a student, with birds. They would have had to stay with my parents. Never would have got more birds, certainly. And they are my whole life.

Then, I think about what I’m gonna do with them next. I feel so guilty for saying this, but, it would be so much easier if they weren’t in the equation. I love them so dearly. They are everything to me. But, I want to explore, I want to do shit. I don’t want to be held back.

And then, I think, I could apply for an extra research project. But that delays me graduating. Delays me travelling with new guy. Delays everything by a whole year. But – I also don’t want to change things for new guy. That isn’t okay, either. I will not fall into that dependency trap again. I will not.

Then, I realise, I’m overthinking. I’d want to travel with or without new guy. Just, fuck. I don’t know. Why does life have to be such a ball ache? I just want to do everything I want to do and not be worried about timing or other people or anything.

So, maybe I should be more selfish. But, that means figuring out what I really want. What do I really want? I don’t even know.