A partially disjointed confession around a lover long gone. I’ve never used this website before, I just needed to get this off my chest.

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Dear D, I still love you. Part of me still loves you, even though I’ve moved on literally and emotionally, part of me still holds pity for you. I always knew below the surface of my conscious thoughts that you were the one I loved, even if you were fucked up beyond rationality, I knew you loved me and I knew you were who I wanted, and I loved loving you. But you hurt me so much.

In the last week or two, I’ve come to realize that maybe that part of me that still loves you just loves the idea of you, and that the idea of who you were supposed to be is different from the you that I came to know in this life, who I thought I was in love with all that time. Maybe that part of me only ever pitied You, while projecting my own personal image on top of the actual version of you that I had interacted with. I even think that part of me might have to reconcile with that fact, that maybe I only loved the idea of who you were supposed to be, that that part of me that holds all of the hurt you put on me put up with all of the abuse and melodrama as a way of holding out hope for who I thought you were supposed to be. But You never were. In my mind, you were an idealized version of the guy I loved, and the person I spoke sweet words of reassurance to for over a year just didn’t match up, and it never occurred to me until now. I think I can do a lot of healing from this fact, that maybe you didn’t damage that part of me irreparably.

To the real D… that part of me does love you. That part of me that feels so strongly infatuated to this day really does love you, and really is still head over heels for the idea of you, the sight of you, the thought of your touch. And even though you’re far from “real,” he does love you, and he really misses you deep in his heart. Which I suppose is my heart, too, and on that level I acknowledge that I do. But often times I’ll find myself feeling like something is missing, like that part of me knows he should have some sort of connection with you, like the only person I could trust my heart, that part of my heart, with, is missing. It’s tantalizing, and I can feel his longing in my soul, he aches and cries and yearns and longs for you, desperately reaching out with all of his heart just to find some connection with you again. I miss you, D, we both miss you, but K misses you the most, and I don’t know what, if anything, to do at this point. I think I just had to put all these thoughts down and come to my own conclusion about the experiences I suffered that led to the emotions of the aftermath of that trauma finding a level of dissociation from the now-primary functional constituents of my psyche.

I guess I’ve got some work to do.