The Other Half

I only told half of the story of my “soul searching break.”

Today/tonight marks the 3 year anniversary of an ex’s murder.

I’ll let that sink in a bit.

A lot of my close friends and family know the details, were there for me when I was going through everything, were going through similar things…but…I’ve never really given into my emotion on the matter.

I felt it was time with this trip.

I dated him for about 3 years (on and off a couple times) and at the time we had been officially off and not on great terms. He was dating someone else, and as far as I could tell, everything was moving forward. He and his current had moved into an apartment together, her and I were talking, trying to be more friendly, and I was hoping that eventually he and I could be friends again.

We had been good at being friends and terrible at being romantic partners. We both made a ton of mistakes. We had some amazingly great times, but when we had bad times…they were awful. We got volatile with each other. We made bad decisions when we fought and really hurt one another.

I don’t want to go into the details of his murder, mostly because I tell it so often when the subject comes up. (You would be surprised at how often it does…I was) I want to start my healing about it.

You see, I’m reeeeeeeaaaallllly good at faking “dealing.” I’ve always pushed aside my own feelings and emotions to feel/seem strong for others who couldn’t. I’ve been doing it for at least the last three years. Even when I’m by myself, I don’t confront what is going on in my head or heart about what happened.

On my road trip, I started the process. Being alone in a car for three days, you almost can’t help but to think. Sometime in New Mexico, before I got to Roswell, I started to think about Ryan.

My train of thought was:

I HATE that the chance to be friends again was taken away. I HATE that I couldn’t tell Ryan all of the things I needed to. I HATE that I pushed all my feelings aside to be “the strong one.” I HATE that sometimes I resent some of the other people involved, and feel like I was forgotten about, maybe because I hadn’t made a huge scene or because I seemed “so strong” about the whole thing that I didn’t seem to need comfort. I HATE that I need comfort. I HATE that I’m crying right now. I HATE that I waited to tell him “I’m sorry we fucked up.” I HATE that his killer dragged me into the conflict. I HATE that I didn’t know how to handle THAT. Dammit, Ryan, I loved you. We just weren’t meant to be together, but it didn’t change any of my feelings. I miss your goofy smile and sarcasm. I miss hearing you in the other room playing your video games. I hate the way it all ended between us. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I miss you in my life.

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