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I fucked up.

Since that fateful day where the girl I love witnessed my heart breaking in front of her eyes, in her house, I swore off of her.

I told her to block me on every platform of communication. I needed to be forced to be without contact. I couldn’t do it myself.

It was torture at first. Every night I would go downstairs and procrastinate crawling into bed. I dreaded the inevitable sobbing that went hand in hand with night-time’s sudden solitude. I dreaded the silence of the void that was once filled with sleepy, loving conversation.  I didn’t know how to sleep in my own bed without my right leg over her left and the fingers on my right hand delicitaly but safely intertwined with hers. I had never felt so alone.

She’s the one I would talk to about this.

I called her mom crying that Monday night. That was stupid. I felt pathetic.

But over the next two weeks I would grow at a rate faster than I knew possible. Friends made themselves available. And, like a broken record, I would regurgitate the same thoughts and feelings of pain every day. I knew I was exhausting to them, and I felt guilty for it. I’m tired of being the sad friend. Depression before, and depression now, but this time more intense and even harder to understand.

Breaking up with someone is fine. There’s no right way to do it. And one can’t be mad at another for ending a relationship that they aren’t happy with. But there are definitely wrong ways to do it, and wrong ways to go about treating your ex afterward. There was no need for me to hurt as much as do.

That said, I was doing better. It’s not a trend, but through the ups and downs I could see that the path I was on pointed slightly upward. I managed to win a race and that gave me a massive high. But when I returned to my new (temporary) normal a day or two after that high, that low was hard to swallow. I cried instead of riding on Tuesday morning.

If you’re accustomed to 5 degrees and rain, but go somewhere with 25 degree dry weather, when you return to the wet 5 degrees, it feels much colder than it did before. It was a shock to sink back to that low, and the low was lower than I recalled.

My mood improved and I had a good day on Wednesday and Thursday.  I was, for the most-part, no longer obsessing and worrying about what she might be up to, as I had been for a couple weeks now. I hadn’t tried to see anything about her since I had been at her house. Admittedly, I did start to type her website url a couple of times, but slammed my laptop shut before I could open it. So I was doing better, that is, until I received a letter from her in the mail. I had asked her to leave me alone, and suddenly I had this letter. I didn’t want to open it. I was scared of what would be inside. I read it. It upset me.

I left on Friday night for two months on the road of racing and training. I was afraid about whether or not I’d be ready to be alone. Two days in, my fears are more than justified. Fuck! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Saturday morning as we drove into Oregon I opened an old journal. Two postcards fell out. One was the one that I had written to her just 10 minutes before she texted me to tell me she wanted a break. “Hi Love! Spent today exploring with my camera! So grateful to you for teaching me to use and appreciate it, and for giving me one. I miss you a lot but am glad that we’ve been doing relatively well while apart. Can’t wait to see you! Love, Oli.” The irony. The brutal irony. Such an obnoxious indication of how uninformed I was. The opposite pages we were on. How unknowing I was. The other postcard was empty, I planned to write to her the next week.

I didn’t eat dinner last night.

I’m in Vegas now. I’m in a hotel room with three others. We aren’t close. I only met two of them yesterday. They’re speaking French. I don’t speak French. I’m sitting with my back to the room holding my breath. I’ll cry if I breathe. I can’t let them see me. I’m so fucking alone. Why am I so sad?

I didn’t have dinner tonight.

I typed in her website’s url and proceeded to her site. I read her blog posts. It brought me to her instagram too (from which I am blocked). I read and viewed all her updates. I saw how okay she is without me. How set in her decisions she is. I thought I would be okay, but that letter, my post card, her website, and me, alone.

I hope this goes away. I wish she had been kinder. I wish I saw it coming. I wish I was stronger. I wish I didn’t get that letter, or write her that postcard. I can’t bring myself to throw either out.

In learning to love myself, I’ve discovered that perhaps I still love her which makes me dislike myself more. This needs to change. I will change it. I need to love myself. I can’t love someone who doesn't care about me.

My back is still to the room. My head is bowed. I’m holding me breath. I’m crying.