broken

I'm fighting panic with a keyboard and a screen. Watching the words like they might save me from drowning, tiny rafts bobbing up from the depths of the page. The more I make, the safer I'll be. If my hands are typing, I don't notice them shaking so much.

I'm "opened up" and vulnerable. I'm sweet, kind, but never enough. Never enough. I'm not at his speed. He needs someone who can keep up. I can't. He can't turn to me when he's feeling empty. I'm too fucked up and needy. Just another chore, knocking on his door.

Fuck. Think about something else. Those rafts have holes. Or poison.

Fighting panic. I believed in him. I believed in us. Fucking fool. We're all human. Not worth believing. People change. For the worse. Or maybe his better just doesn't include me. He has to buckle down, can't have my dead weight. Dragging him down. I just wanted to be his sanctuary, the way he was for me. When I was empty, I turned to him. When he is empty, he turns away. He's better off alone.

Maybe I will be, too. But first I have to fight off the panic. I have to make it through tonight. I have to. There's an angel face sleeping, so sweet, so innocent, so optimistic, sleeping in the top bunk in his room with his blanket and his toys. I have to make it. Because I'm not really alone, and if I panic, he will be frightened.

I have to sleep. I have to. I don't think I can, because I can't stop typing. I can't let myself lay down, unoccupied, free to think whatever comes to mind. My mind isn't quiet. It's frightened. It's panicking but if I stay busy I can fight it. I just have to stay busy. That's all. Stay busy until I fall asleep.

We'll stay in touch, right? We can't just walk away. We're best friends. Not just lovers. Not just a boyfriend and girlfriend. He's my anchor. He's my safe place and my happy place. But I'm not his. I'm neither, for him. I always turned to him, even when he was the person I was mad at. Even then, I sought and found comfort in his arms, because I knew I was safe there. I still know I would be safe there, if he weren't so far away. If I could just get there. If those arms would ever open for me again.

Now what. Now where am I safe? Where am I happy? Who am I, without him?

I know that ultimately, I won't be broken by this, because I don't have a choice. I will be strong enough, because I have a child. I have to be. Not surviving isn't an option. But survival isn't safety. Survival isn't happiness. I'll always be a little broken inside. I just hope my child doesn't see it.

I hope I can hide it. Maybe if I pretend long enough, it'll start being true.

Probably not.

"Fake it til you make it." Where did I hear that? In the Army? Maybe. Sounds like something you'd hear in the Army. Didn't work there, either.

It's getting easier to pause without shaking immediately. Maybe I can go to bed soon.

He's just trying to survive, too.

I hate the thought that he will be alone. I ache for him, too. I fear for myself. I ache for him. I wish, uselessly, that nobody had to be lonely. It's a fate worse than death. I wish, just as uselessly, that I could have been his happy place. His safe place.

I'm not that person. Wanting, doesn't make being.

I still love him. He's such a beautiful person. I can't imagine ever not loving him. Being alone, though - that's easy to imagine. I just remember.

He's beautiful, but we're both broken, and our breaks don't seem to line up the way we thought they did.

Why is he still my safe place? Still the arms I want to run to, right now? I can't fault him, for being a little bit broken. But I can miss him. And I can mourn us.

And I can support him, as a friend, for as long as he'll let me. Because he's worth it. Because we're worth it. Because I'm worth it. Because he's my Archer, and I am his Bones.

I think I can slow down now. The panic is there, but a few deep breaths pushes it under again when it rises. Maybe I can keep it there, drown it, at least until the morning. Just need to focus away from the pain. Away. Away, not toward. Think about my son and how awesome he is. Think about all my projects spinning around in my schedule right now. Think about anything but running into his embrace. My safe place.

Or maybe... pretend I'm in my safe place. In his arms. Ignore all the protests from my pain. Just feel the comfort. Just feel his love. He did say he still loves me. Maybe he won't mind if I use him for tonight, just to keep my brain safe from itself. Just to pretend I'm ok. I'll tell myself I'm not losing my best friend, just my lover. And best friends are more important anyway.

It could be worse. At least I'm not still alone in the relationship. Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better. I thought it would. I was wrong.

I'm getting to that dead place. That place where I don't have to worry about panicking anymore because there's nothing left inside. If I can just let that take over, I'll be able to sleep tonight. This morning. Whatever.

Is it weird to manage your emotional state while you're experiencing it? It's unusual for me. But I'm getting better at it, I think.

I regret deleting all our texts last week. No I don't. I did momentarily, but that's over now. I deleted them because it was so painful to see all the texts I'd sent him which never got answered. For a moment, I wished I could go back and see the texts he sent back when he used to actually participate in our relationship. The loving ones. But that would have been a lot of scrolling back. There'd be more pain than gain in that venture. I'm glad they're gone.

Blank. Capable, as just proven, of spacing out. That means I can stop typing now. I'm going to try to sleep.

*fingers crossed*



P.S. Archer just broke up with me. Over the phone. At least I'm at home. That's good, right?