Deja Vu is a Bitch.

I have to get this off my fucking chest because it eats me alive every fucking day and I’m fucking tired of it. 

Our relationship is progressing the same exact way as last time so it’s hard not to feel fucking deja vu you know? 

It’s been almost 3 amazing months together but I still cry myself to sleep at night wondering when is the fucking bomb going to drop, and pieces of my body are going to be flown across the room. I barely put myself together last time. I don’t think I can do it again. There’s a reason I don’t do second chances. If someone truly loves you they wouldn’t need another chance to show it. 

Sometimes I get scared this is all some big joke and I’ll wake up and it won’t be real and you’ll leave. 

I couldn’t come back from another break up with you. I barely survived the first one. 

It’s going really well just like the last time I can’t help but get a little scared that we’ll end with me in the corner of the kitchen floor, hugging the bottle of tequila drinking my heartbreak down my throat. I don’t want to meet that side of me again, but she lingers quietly in the shadows, her sneer peeking around the corner. She’s waiting for everything to fall apart again so she can save the day with a bottle of patron and send me to hell where I belong. She’s itching to drown me again and I don’t want to feed into her sick, self destructive fetish.

It’s no secret we have quite the fucking history. Our love story while inspiring it can be, has its own share of demons, and regrets. Love is a treacherous thing to have. It can kill even the most hopeful souls, drowning them in their own bodies, until they’re nothing but a shell of the person they once were. 

Our first break up broke me because I knew then we were meant to fucking be together and it destroyed me because I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why he left. Some nights I lay in bed, watching him sleep and I cry because I still can’t wrap my head around it. It’s pathetic really. I clearly don’t sleep much. It’s a luxury money can’t buy. 

I cried over us everyday for six months. Every. Single. Day. I had to take a personal leave from fucking work because I got so bad.

He never realized how bad the break up hurt me but to be fair would it have mattered then? Would it have changed anything? Would it changed our outcome? It wasn’t like I never tried to get him back. It wasn’t like I sat here like a dumb ass accepting our fate. I remember I drove over to pick up my sons holiday gifts, timing it perfectly so I would see him while he was home for lunch. I made so many fucking excuses to see him. I couldn’t let him go. My mind couldn’t accept he was gone. I remember watching him kiss his daughter goodbye and avoiding my existence as he walked out the back door. I remember running after him as he left for work, slipping on the icy stairs as I stumbled down the deck to the back gate swinging it open, standing there emotionally naked, the December wind biting my skin raw, leaving crimson, painful marks on my body. I remember the tears running down my face as I exposed myself to him, professed my unwavering love for him, and all he can fucking muster out his stupid mouth is, I’m sorry. With a casual shrug like we’re talking about the fucking weather. I stood there flabbergasted, wondering when this nightmare was going to end because I couldn’t take it anymore. I remember driving home crying, almost crashing my car because I didn’t understand how someone could claim to love you and yet leave you to freeze to death.

In our short amount of time together he made he feel like he loved me then. I thought it was going to last; I didn’t expect myself cry everyday for six fucking months like a fucking loser. 

He had me in the first half not gonna lie. He really had me fucking fooled. They love to say time heals all wounds. Time is going to have a lot of work on its hands because these wounds are deep and they haven’t stopped bleeding. I don’t know if they ever will, I’ve never been much of an optimist. 

It’s all or nothing at this point. It’s okay to fucking risk it. I just hope the risk is worth it the second time around. 

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s