I hope he's right

What is it about love that makes the heart so profoundly ecstatic and yet can make you so profoundly sick in heart at the same time?

Another great man has left my life. After 3 months where we spent almost everyday together, where we shared our hopes and dreams, our problems with family dynamics, the harsh hurts we learn as children and cover from the world...and yes made love too many times to count. Well sex mostly for the first couple months. You know..the exciting part about falling in love, getting to be ravenous and flirty and staying up till 5 am each night because the intimacy of perfect nights of soft music playing in the background with the tiny glow of a single candle bathing your beloved in soft golden shadows. You start thinking the world does not exist outside of this place, with this person.

But he had to leave. He told me. Too late, but he told me.
"Going back to Toronto this summer. My contracts up," had seemed like a little bummer of a note only two nights into knowing him and hanging out with him only with a group of friends.
Little did I know I would be falling in love with him...

And of course like a dick I had to pick a fight with him over the phone a week after he left. Testing whether he loved me, or whether he still did. But he saw through it and it actually all ended up blowing in my face instead. A self made landmine. I'm getting pretty good at those.

I went to the community outdoor pool today, and it was one of those perfect days. The ones with the sun so hot it air drys your wet skin, cloudless skies, children shrieking and laughing, the shhhhh sound of the trees in the wind.  I should have been rejoicing; not silently crying hot tears that leaked down into my mouth, and which I did not brush away.

The beauty of it, is I am seeing a pattern. I love so fiercely and openly and devotionally when I love. It's like I want the force of my love to be so strong they have to love me back. But it's thats not real love then. It's my insecurity of not feeling...enough, not being enough, not be worthy of love. That why would anyone love me? I can't even love me....

God it hurts though. You invest yourself into someone and they walk. There is no feeling worse. It's just further proof that all those feelings of worthlessness are true. Why else would he not stay?

I know it's irrational. His work, family, and life is back in Toronto. I was a 3 month blip in yearly plan he had.
But I can't help it. Thinking maybe it should have been like the movies...where he shows up at the door and tells me he's going to stay. Maybe not even that dramatic or cheesy. I'd settle for a "I love you too" text. So much hope and sadness is tied into wishing, almost makes it terrifying to dream for something ever again.

"I do not regret the things I've done, but the things I did not do- " the wise man Rory Cochrane once said. God I hope he's right.

I shouldn't have to hurt this much

I a weird homework assignment today. But considering it's for my shrink, i think it's expected to be weird. And by weird I mean so damn personal and slamming into your heart like a slab of meat weird. On this daily chart I had to write down simple situations, things I encountered over the day, things like "I had a rough day at work after a few impatient customers," or "a good friend left the country today" very objective just simple overview of what happened to me. Then on the bar beside it, I had to write "The depressive thoughts" or the things I felt or associated or attached to these simple situations. Seems simple enough right?
Wrong.
I got a glimpse into my mind in the most violated way.
I saw just how scary it was. In black and white.
A bad day at work changed to- My life is going to be a series of dead end jobs. I will die miserable and bitter. I am worth nothing.
Another friend who I cared about leaving became- I am alone. I am never enough. I am a stepping stone for other people's successes. I don't want this particular life.

Each one she looked, her voice reading them aloud.  So monotone and objective, those dramatic feelings came out like someone reading a bad play. It was like someone reading your diary aloud, in every way it felt humiliating. But more than that. The way she really looked at them, and would tut or say, "Oh Christina...." and her eyes would look at me. Like she was a mother, giving me the space to feel them, not commenting, but her eyes allowing me to hurt.
I cried.
Thickly.
"It doesn't have to be this hard. I mean this-", she held the papers up, -"this is too much pain darling. I mean I'm glad you only wrote down one a day. My god each one is a whole story on its own."

I don't know my next step. She says I have to get over my fears and take some prescriptions. That they can help. Everything inside me screams no, is adverse to drugs and how the pharmaceutical system with all its fucked up antibiotics and side affects killed part of my health in the first place.

But I don't know. Maybe she's right.
I shouldn't have to hurt this much....