Clinical depression.
Post traumatic stress disorder.
Borderline personality disorder.
Liver failure.
In love with my ex that I fucked over. It's been two years since we parted ways and I still love her with every inch of my being.
She, on the other hand, could care less. I don't blame her. She is another casualty of a war that is the ongoing saga that revolves in my mind.
With her, I felt like I belonged. It was like I found a purpose. I found serenity. She, along with my son and her daughter, completed me.
For some reason though, I destroy any good in my life once I feel any sense of comfort. It's the story of my life. I sabotage myself, being my own worst enemy. There is no explanation why I do this, nor do I see it coming as I blind side myself. I try to make excuses or rationalize, knowing later that there is no excuse for my actions.
She was fuckin awesome, too. Down to earth, hard working, intelligent, hilarious, sexy, independent, self-made, and could spit any Biggie verse ever recorded. In my book, she was flawless. She was way out of my league.
I dream of her, constantly. Even last night, she appeared. It resembles having an angel while living in Hell. And as always I wake up to a life without her, making for another long day. A long day where my mind shifts from the north to the south pole and back again; these are the days I think of her more than usual.
Two years and I can't get over her. I don't want to be over her. I would walk through the storm for endless days for a slither of a chance to bring her back in my life in any meaningful way.
To be continued...
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