72 hours

It’s been 72 hours. We could never go longer than 2 hours without talking. We could hate each other to the core at that moment, but we couldn’t go for more than 120 minutes without knowing if the other was ok. Friday and Saturday are just alcohol induced blurs that I have no real recollection of. The days are longer, and the nights seem to be colder than usual. I went from sleeping with someone to an empty bed that taunts me every night.

I know where we went wrong. It was clear how it would affect us, but we loved each other so much we didn’t talk anything out. This went to s**t the minute we had the miscarriage. We were two emotional wrecks being told by society that we should be thankful because of our place in life. Could we afford the baby? No. Could we give the baby the absolute best everything money can buy? No. Was this the comfort we were looking for when we found out the same day that we were pregnant and lost it both at the same time? Absolutely f*****g not.

I can feel myself wanting to go off the deep end. I can feel the alcoholic demon that use to possess me trying to make a comeback. Somehow, the thought of you scared for me keeps me strong. No matter how bad it can get, I know you don’t wish that on me. The same way I don’t wish anything bad on you. It’s that love that doesn’t belong to me anymore that keeps me from drinking every minute of the day.

We really had a good thing, but we managed to f**k that up. Both of us. I was no saint in it at all. My insecurities of past relationships consistently had you proving yourself daily so I can keep safe with you. You jumped through hurdles to make me happy. And even with this being noticed, I still managed to make you feel as if you didn’t do enough. And you had your insecurities and inability to explain how you felt truly. It wasn’t till you were infuriated that I knew what was getting on your nerve for the past months.

It’s been 72 hours. Every day has been as s****y as the one before it, and I know it’s only going to get worse before it gets better. The things we feared of the other moving on is a reality we must accept. We can no longer as the other what their day consists of, or if the other is longing for them the same way. And as my mind is filled with laugh filled memories that keep me broken, I can only hope you’re better than I am. I know we both are f*****g wrecks, so the best I can hope is you’re handling this better than I am. I only want the best for you, even if this ended so abruptly. I hope you’re safe and able to keep going better than I am. It’s been 72 hours, and all I know is I miss you and I love you while knowing I must move on from that. And I have no game plan, just take it a minute at a time, and enjoy the same recollections that stab at my heart.