Every time someone leaves, I always think I’ll handle it a little more gracefully.
Like I won’t fall to my knees on the bathroom floor crying in a scream that no one actually hears because I only let myself be that vulnerable when I’m alone.
Every time someone leaves, I always think I’ll be okay.
Okay. I’m not sleeping at night and I’m tired during the day and my best friend asks, “did you eat today?” And I think back to the last meal I had and I don’t remember was it yesterday or the day before and why doesn’t it hurt?
Because the truth is, hunger pains don’t compare to the pain of someone leaving.
Every time someone leaves, I think I’ll channel the pain into productivity.
But the truth is, I lay there numb not wanting to move. I stare at the computer screen lost. I hold back tears or go to the bathroom looking at myself falling apart.
Every time someone leaves, I think it’ll make me stronger.
But I hit rock bottom so fast and so hard I shatter to pieces on the ground. And my friends ask how I am and I can’t answer. I can’t make them understand the weight of heavy feelings watching someone go.
As if it was me who wasn’t good enough to make them stay.
Every time someone leaves, I remember saying to myself, “don’t get too attached.“
But how can you not when you meet this person who teaches you to love yourself? How can you not when you look at someone else and suddenly you have a reason to get up in the morning? Don’t get too attached, but how can you not when this person knows you to the core of who you are and they’ve accepted it?
But what if they knew you too much and it was you that was too much to handle?
Every time someone leaves, I always blame myself.
Like I’m the one that fucked up. Had I not said something wrong or done something, they would have stayed. I put it all on me and blame myself. I hold it over my own head. I apologize to God hoping He will pass along the message. I beat myself up as if I deserve to live with this. The truth is, I don’t know how to forgive myself for the things I do wrong or the people who leave.
Every time someone leaves, I never sleep at night.
They meet me in my dreams that turn to nightmares haunting me. And I lay there sick to my stomach and I run to the bathroom and I throw up. Only nothing but spit is coming out because I haven’t eaten.
I didn’t know someone’s absence can physically affect you like that.
Every time someone leaves, I sit there like a ghost.
I have nothing to say. Nothing to add to conversations. I’m the last person you’d want to invite to a party.
Physically I’m there, but emotionally I’m so checked out.
And I go to the doctor and they sign a paper. As if pills are to solve the problem.
But there aren’t enough pills I can pop to fill the emptiness you left me with.
And I look in the mirror overcome with hate of the person looking back at me because I know that why they left.
If I was a little more whole. A little less needy. A little more normal. Maybe they’d stay.
Every time someone leaves, I think I’m the one who lost something.
With every exit, I lose myself watching the ones I love go.
I search for them in the eyes of strangers hoping maybe I’ll find myself again.
Every time someone leaves, I replay the past in my mind like it’s some annoying song I hate I repeat.
The hardest part isn’t the forgiveness of others, but the skeletons I dance with in my own closet not letting it go.
Every time someone leaves, I try to numb the pain.
Next thing I know the room is spinning and I’m slurring words and the only thing that comes out clearly is, “I miss you.”
Every time someone leaves, I hate myself for how much it affects me.
Envious of those who can write others off and never think about them again.
But a heart like mine takes everyone with me even those I lose along the way.