And now. Life is a bit shit.

Our apartment has been let.
We were given ten days to move out.
And I felt like vomiting.
Suddenly, reality hit home.
I have broken up with my boyfriend, and my main support in life, and I now have to find some strangers to move in with when I'm at my lowest point.
All I really want to do is curl up in a little ball and wait until it's all over and somebody else has dealt with it.
But, no. This is what I wanted. There's no way to back out, and there's no way anybody else is going to help me. I've gotta make it on my own. Or end up homeless.
It's amazing what a week will do.
This here week has almost broken me. I'm so far down in the dumps I may as well get comfortable.
I'm not sure what to do next. It feels like everything's spiralling into the crap, and I need a good slap in the face to get back on track.
But I guess there's no one else to do that for me anymore. Can I do it for myself?

Trial Separation

Today is a bad day.

T has gone away for the weekend - arguably a good thing - but the reality of my decision has been smashed home by his absence.

Not so long ago, we could barely spend a day apart. Now, we can only get through the day if we don't see each other at all.

The thing is; is awkward. Seriously awkward.

This man, that I've loved, for four years, with all my heart I had to give, is just a body to me now. He is a body in bed next to me. He is a body that moves around our home. He doesn't represent that love anymore; I can't get that from him. He is a being that is not there to be touched, or loved, but just...there.

I called him. I missed the sound of his voice.

He is living his life; he might have been sad, but he is moving forward, enjoying himself with his friends. And it kills me. Not because I don't want him to be happy; I do, it's just so hard to think of him existing, living a life I have no part in.

Like I'm nothing. Just a memory.

And that hurts more than I could have imagined. For four years, this man was my everything and I was everything to him.

Now, we're walking in different directions. We might glance over our shoulders to remind ourselves of love, once in a while, but we're just going to move further and further away from each other. Further away from that perfect thing that we had. That I destroyed. That I ended.

He might walk away, but he doesn't have to live with the decision.
If this is a mistake. It's all my own.

Time to Be a Grown Up

When I was 18, I met T. He was wonderful, and ticked all the boxes. Smart, ambitious, handsome, and kind-hearted.

The more I found out, the better the proposition of T was. He was perfect for me. Within a week we were exclusive. Within a month we had professed our love for one another, and within six months, we were living together.

That's where this all started. I moved out of my parents' home to move in with T. The ball never dropped. I went from daughter, to girlfriend, and never stopped to be me in between.

Four years later, I'm waiting for T to come home, with dinner in the oven, knowing that I can't kiss him, because it only makes things harder; knowing that we'll be sleeping in the same bed together, because it's easier, and knowing that our perfect pathway to eternal happiness has been destroyed, and it's all my fault.

I broke up with T last week.

One trip overseas by myself, and I wasn't the same. I couldn't continue down that same path; the road to marriage, children and a quiet, comfortable life.

I remembered that I was my own person. I have dreams, ambitions, and hopes, and I was about to forget it all forever. I felt like the only way to get a life was to start over. Completely. One thing I do know about myself; when I make a decision, I can't put it off. So, I ended it. My perfect life was over.

And my adventure is about to begin.