I used to write

I used to write.

From a very young age I loved writing. I didn't write all the time but whenever the mood took me I would write. Stories, poems, songs. I loved to write.

Lacking confidence and sometimes inspiration, I haven't always been the most prolific writer. Over the years I have written sporadically at best - partly because I can't bear to write anything that I do not believe meets a certain standard. Right now, I am writing something that I intend to post online straight away. It will be the first time in my life that I've ever done such a thing - let anyone read something I've written without first checking it countless times, deciding whether it's good enough. But I haven't written in weeks, and I have to write something now or I fear it may never happen again.

*

When I met you, the things in my life all started to make sense. For the first time I became truly happy, and even when things in life were not going well I was always grateful that I had you. Deep down I was content, even when I seemed stressed and unhappy.

It was about six months into our relationship that I got back into writing, having suffered from a lack of inspiration for a while before we met. Not that I ever wrote about you, but the general contentment I felt made it easier to find that inspiration and motivation within myself. Eventually I did something I'd never previously had the guts to do - I signed up to a writers' website and actually allowed other people (strangers, no less) to read and critique some of my work. And it turned out to be less scary than I'd thought. It gave me confidence and even more inspiration to keep writing.

And then, of course, you left. Out of nowhere you started saying things were wrong. Everything was suddenly different, and awful, and I had no control. You told me you didn't feel the same, then I came over to your house and we talked and you agreed to give it a try. Twenty-four hours later you telephoned me to tell me it was definitely over - and I still can't believe after all we'd been through, all we meant to each other, that you ever felt it was appropriate to end our relationship over the phone. Obviously I was devastated but then it was only another twenty-four hours before you called me again, crying and sobbing and begging for forgiveness... "I've made a mistake, I love you, I know it will take you a long time to trust me again but I'll do anything I can, I want to be with you forever, I love you so much..." and so I took you back. And after another ten days, there I was in your bedroom, both of us with tears streaming down our faces as you told me it was over. Again. Constantly saying sorry and that you still loved me but you just can't be in a relationship right now. And so I left.

Three days. That was all it was before you sent the first text message: "I know you're probably not in the right frame of mind to talk to me yet but please can you let me know when you are so that I can." And even though I didn't want to, I couldn't help but get my hopes up. It seemed my hopes were right when, the next day, you sent me an email telling me that you still loved me, and that there's a huge part of you that can't imagine your future without me but that there's another part of you that is scared about it. And then we spoke on the phone a few times, and we texted or emailed each other most days, and what was I supposed to think? You were constantly telling me how much you loved me and missed me, and saying you just had to sort your head out. And I understand that you're confused, I understand that you don't generally talk about your problems - that's why I have gone out of my way to support you. To be there for you when you need to talk. I would do anything for you - and I've lost count of the number of times I've told you that.

So then, after two and a half weeks apart, during which time we were in almost constant contact, I went to your house. It freaked me out the way you acted like nothing had happened, holding me and kissing me and calling me by the pet names you've always had for me, and bringing up silly little in-jokes that were such a huge part of our relationship. I cried because I was so confused about how you could behave like that, but at the same time it was lovely to be there with you, back in your arms where I belong. And you said that if we're going to get back together it has to happen like this - naturally, just through spending time with each other again - and I knew you were right. Sad and difficult though it was, that was the best night I'd had in a long time.

Of course, it was after that night that you didn't contact me again for six days. Six agonising days when I didn't know what was going on, what I'd done, what was going to happen. And although that was horrendous for me, the eventual phone call after a week of no contact was wonderful. It was upsetting, but I finally felt like we were really making progress, like you really wanted to solve your problems and eventually get to the stage where we could be together again.

Seeing you last Sunday - the first time in two months that we'd seen each other in a public place, with anyone else there - was harder than I can describe. You were nice to me and our few conversations were not as awkward as they could have been, but the pain of standing ten feet from you and watching you talk to your friends, knowing that I couldn't just walk over and slip my arms around you, was almost too much to bear. I have no idea how to be anything other than your girl.

And that's why I did what I did this week. You sent me a few emails in which you spoke to me like I was just a friend, just someone you hang out with occasionally - not the love of your life, not the person whom you have told your deepest secrets and darkest fears never previously shared with anyone, not the person you said you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, not the woman you claimed would bear your children, not the girl who bought you a passport and took you to Jamaica when you'd never been out of northern Europe before, not the lover who showed you the world and offered to give it to you - and I couldn't stand it anymore. There is a limit to how many times I can let you break my heart. And so I sent you that long email in which I asked you not to contact me again, just to leave me alone for a while because I can't cope with the emotional rollercoaster of never knowing what might happen next or what you're thinking about or anything. I don't know what I'm going to do but I know I can't live like this anymore.

It's only been three days. Three days since I was last in touch with you. But it feels like months. I miss you more than I would have thought possible. There is a void inside me that I feel will remain forever. The part of me that was with you and can't let go is aching, and will ache for the rest of my life. Hopefully, as time goes on, I will be able to suppress that ache, to cover it with other feelings. But I don't believe it will ever go away. That part of me belongs to you now.

*

I realised yesterday that I don't write anymore. Since all this horrible crap between us began seven weeks ago, writing has been far from my mind. It's hard enough just to get out of bed in the mornings and drag myself through the days at work. It's hard enough just to see my friends and pretend I'm not more miserable than I have ever been. I am not motivated to do anything. All I want is for all this never to have happened, and because that is impossible I just sit around feeling like there is nothing good in my life. Everything is pointless and hateful and sad. I'm not interested in anything if I don't have you.

But I'm an intelligent person. I know I can't live like this. I know I have to try to get on with things or I will drive myself mad. I have to start living again. I have to write.

And so here I am. What can I possibly write about? I need to get this bile and grief out of me before I can even begin thinking about anything else. I don't know what I'm hoping to achieve. I don't know if writing this down has helped, or will help at all. You don’t even know about this website that I write on, so you will never read this sad little rant. This excessively abridged version of our break-up story probably won't interest anyone else - goodness knows it's not particularly well written. But that isn't the point. I just have to say something, I have to do something, I have to write. You have taken the inspiration and motivation out of my life, you have taken the hope and the love and the happiness out of my life, and I don't know what I'm left with but I know I have to try. I have to try to be alive again. I have to write.

People say it's better to have loved and lost than never to love at all. Much as I never want to feel like our relationship was a waste - because it was undoubtedly the happiest time of my life - there is certainly a part of me that wishes we had never met. If I hadn't known such great happiness with you then I wouldn't know what I'm missing now. I will never be the person I used to be, the person I was before we met, because now I know how it feels to love someone with all my being and to have that love wrenched away from me. I know how it feels to be in physical pain at the thought of how I can possibly spend my days without you. I know too much, so I will never be the person I used to be. But I must attempt to get back to some kind of normal life, to do things for myself again - the things I used to do. And I used to write.