That’s that. Triage failed. The patient is dead. He broke up with me. Or at least, he told me that he broke up with me yesterday. I think that he had made the decision some time ago, and that this was possibly the reason that I was detecting strangenesses. He said very little, in the grand scheme, really. It’s hard to blame him. I know how bad he’s hurt. I know that nothing is going to help, especially someone like me pouring all of myself into him.

I feel very hurt. And useless. And sad. And like a failure. And like there is not point in trying to love anymore. Because I only ever do This. And This only ever breaks my heart into a million pieces, again and again. There are myriad paths right now open before me. They all terrify me.

There are two things eating away at me from different angles, but really they’re the same thing. The first is the thing I said before. I know, already, and I have known the entire time, that if my heart is broken in this situation, that I will be fine. That I will take a proverbial licking and keep on a-ticking. This is the only blessing that I have been given, at least as far as I can tell. Is that no matter what I will keep fucking moving. Life, for me, is not an indie movie. Sometimes it feels like nothing matters except motion. This is something that I find infuriating to a degree that I can not put into words. It is existential rage.

The other thing that’s eating away at me from the whole other side of my soul is that I don’t know if he will be. I hope that he will be. I hope that if nothing else, he uses me as a stepping stone to get 1% better, or at least get away from the abuse that he’s been going through. If that is the case, then I can die happy tomorrow. If it is not.

Why do we come into the world.

There are a lot of more like, ground level thoughts that I have about the situation too. Wrong things that I said, things I could’ve said better, things I should’ve focused on instead. I’ll write them all down. But not right now. Right now I just have to get it out of my head.

I’m sorry I keep lying about what I’m going to do. I’ll stop. I don’t know if I am going to write here again. I want to. This experience has left me reeling. Things looked so good so quickly and they just fall apart in the blink of an eye, just like that. La vie c’est mal. I’m going to read some Camus. Surely now is the time that the myth of Sisyphus will help me the most.