I've recently considered all the people I've met in my life, who I'll likely never see again, and examined them in a new lens; one I find is starting to be more useful and practical. Previously, I thought about the friends and loved ones I've parted ways with (formally or inexplicably) and felt that I had lost something. But, because they are still out there in the world, one day, I may have them back in my live. Even if it was unlikely or untrue. I felt worse off because we were no longer friends or together in any capacity. I felt I had to fall to my knees and beg, scrape together any semblance of remorse and ask for forgiveness. I would put myself down for others to show how much they meant to me. And while remorse and a genuine apology are valuable things to feel and express, and healthy in the right cases, the extent to which I went to try and ensure that people didn't leave me behind was poisonous. I would always blame myself, even if I wasn't at fault, because if the issue was internal to my self, then I could fix it. I cold change. The friends I have during those times would often say otherwise, and try to pick me back up. I still couldn't bear to imagine the near future without their presence.

I often try to find informative videos and articles on how to handle specific intense emotions and situations from professionals. I will often look up "how to deal with depression/anxiety/polyamory/jealousy" and so on. Tonight, I thought that I would explore the psychological field of grief and coping with the loss of loved ones. Surely, if I felt this intensely about cut ties and high walls between my former friends and lovers and I, then I could learn a lot from the experiences of those who have actually lost close people to death. In the case of my last boyfriend, this may have well as been the case, because we shared a happy, close, and loving life together before suddenly he disappeared. That was at the end of January of 2020. I'm still having trouble coping with that. I think about who he is with now, where he is, if he misses me, and what have you. I actually dread seeing him again because I'm afraid to have to questions answered. An intense reaction to and intense shared connection, for sure.

It would perhaps be healthier to imagine as though he's dead. Then that potential is gone. I can't see or talk to a dead person. We can't kiss and make up, so to speak, He can't be fucking someone else. He's dead. Sure, someone critical to my thought processes, or a concerned friend, may say "well, that's just avoidant." It's true, in part. But I've confronted these feelings a thousand times internally and externally.I think I've earned time to avoid it. I'm not avoiding these feelings, though. I'm avoiding the person who once occupied them. As you all may very well know by now if you read these, I confront my problems head on. I think it's unhealthy to let things stew under the surface. Moving on.

I recently met someone who I shared a lot in common with. We enjoyed each other's company right from the start. We enjoyed engaging in the same activities, we suffered from the same disability, and we both found each other attractive. Our first day together, after riding our bikes around my city, we came back to my house, where we watched a movie he was really interested in. By the third act, he broke the ice and invited me to cuddle with him. I accepted, of course. Halfway through our day, I had caught feelings, but I wanted to suppress them until we had spent more time together and got to know each other better. I felt genuinely happy for the first time in a very long while. He stayed the night, we had an intimate moment, and we got lunch together before we said goodbyes and parted ways. As we were eating lunch, he told me about his crush. How they were going to spend a week at some water park resort in another state, and how they were saving a certain special experience for each other. It felt as though someone had shoved hot coal down my throat. I knew it. I knew this was too good to be true. But I held on. After all, this was just a crush, yes?

Later that week, he came down to visit a second time. We played some racing games, got pizza together, cuddled some more, built some Lego's together, and got some milkshakes. Again, I felt much happier when I was with him that day. Our exchanges over Telegram became more and more soft and flirty. Like, heart stickers and "i miss you's" through voice messages kind of stuff. It was a long day spent outdoors with friends, and I had drank two cans of sparkling margaritas, and I had the liquid confidence to break the ice on these feelings I had. He felt them, too.
I wasn't necessarily asking him out with me at the moment, but I was asking if this thing with his crush was for sure or if there was any potential for us to date in the future.
The short answer to keep this story going without stepping on toes is "No, there's no potential." His plans have been in arrangement for months, it's just not official yet.

To say it was hard to hear would be an understatement. I breathed heavily and rapidly as though there wasn't enough air in the universe. I felt intense sadness. I closed the chat, turned my music up, and did what I've always done at these dark hours for weeks, now. I grabbed my pocket knife and brought it to soft skin inside my forearm, and let it drag. I can only ever do this when drunk because the inhibition is gone and the physical pain is dulled. Dull. Just like my knife at this point. I retrieved my utility blade. It was much sharper and it did the trick. I bled. Still superficial, but each time I come back to his place, I cut just a little deeper. A desire for death, but a fear of pain. I had had enough, there wasn't enough real estate for another go. I returned his message and said that I couldn't handle this right now. I deleted our chat history and went back to sulking. I drank more. A half-and-hour later, I had enough courage to continue writing. He sent me messages after I pushed away, so the avenue was still open. All I had to say, in short, was "Why? Why would you invite me to, and engage me in, intimacy?" Why mislead me with these heart stickers and the raw, emotional moments when you have your eye on someone else? It was cruel. I sent the message, and shortly, i heard a knock on my window.

In the dead of night, he rode a good forty miles to see me in my time of despair. No one's done that for me, before. At first, I cried in his arms. And we talked. We talked for and hour or more. There, on my back porch steps, we saw the sky brighten up into twilight as we got lost in our conversations, as we always have before. It felt calmer. Though he still wanted to be friends and have me in his life, it was clear that his path was set. This was someone he felt he'd spend the rest of his life with. We parted ways, and I went to bed.

For the time being, he's promised to no one, at least in formality. And the friendship we have is a great one. But I don't know if I'll ever be able to throw away my love for him. When the day comes in August, if they work out well together, and it's official, I don't know if I could bear to stick around. It's a terrifying thought and I'm conflicted. Do I protect my mental health and set sail for other shores or do I stick around in his life, a constant remind of what I lost out on? I'm either going to lose him or I'm going to lose myself.

That decision become a lot easier if I think of him as dead, on that day. No potential. No tears. I have time to think about it. But I'm fucking scared.