I feel so lost. It feels as if my brain is riding a constant and endless elevator between depression and apathy and then panic and anxiety. For the last few days I have cried and/or had a panic attack each day. My brain chemistry may be to blame or perhaps it the reality that you really desire to share yourself with someone else. My panic tries to size up exactly how that will look for the other person who gets to share to the love you give to me. Will it be good morning texts? Constant compliments about how beautiful and lovely I am? Or perhaps it will be the physical things. Like stroke my arms, holding me tight, kissing my forehead. I cannot lie that the thought of you giving these things to another person does not deeply deeply pain me. I know that I agreed to this agony, assuming that the warmth and love I receive from you would help me feel secure and okay with it. I’m afraid that is slowly degrading into being untrue. I find myself going back and forth with thoughts of well it’s my insecurity and no, I just don’t want to share my partner with someone else because our love is special. Why am I not enough? I wonder. All the while knowing that I am, you just want more. And then I find myself back at the beginning and starting over. I am scared, so deeply deeply scared of someone else experiencing our love. Experiencing you the way I have, they way I do. I am so shameful for feeling so selfish. Feeling as if you are mine, though humans should not want to own other humans. I feel like I am experiencing a complete rewriting of my brain. I think the scariest part is the realization that I want to build something with you. I want a future of experiences, heartache, challenges. And I want it with you. I want your gap toothed smile staring back at me every time I say something so stupid it’s funny. I want your big brown eyes watching me as I exist. But that is the thing, these other partners what happens when they want that to? Who gets you? Surely it won’t be me. And I cannot process that loss, it feels like I’m being squeezed into the smallest closet, the door finally latching as it chokes me. Fuck, I love you so much. I don’t know if I can get through this, the obsessive thoughts, the fear? And then my brain lands it’s final thought. The nail in the coffin before the panic sets in….why do you not love me enough to just be with me if it’s what I want? Is it so bad, just me as a partner? This thought kills me. So I suppose I start over, thinking about what kind of music she likes, what she does in her spare time, your common interests, how her skin will feel once it begins touching yours. Has she sent you photos of her body? Have you talked all night like we once did? Each thought tearing more and more of the healing pieces from the open wound I’ve created for myself. I think, I suffer or I lose you and I suffer more. So I suppose this is a letter about how to suffer.
