Tonight I saw her for the first time in a long time.
I haven't wanted someone so badly in years and it was beyond any physical yearning.
It was this visceral knowledge that she was everything I needed to chase away the bleakness that I've come to call life.
I hate that about her.
I hate that I've dive-bombed into this ******* pit of depression and anxiety that has ****** away any self-respect I may have ever held on to and replaced it with this archaic notion that I can't be happy on my own.
I hate it because it's true.
I am validated in the eyes of others and when there's no one around to see me I don't know who to be.
I don't know how to be.
I sip and I smoke and I pop and try to fill the vacancy with any and everything my body will allow.
I've only come to suicide once and it was so many years back it feels more like the plot of a ****** soap opera than a chapter of my life story.
Clearly I failed and by some miracle not a soul knows that I ever even tried.
They just thought I was sick.
Well the doctors are long gone but the sickness still pulses through my veins like a vapid bassline in a song no one bothers to learn the words to.
And why should they when it's my song to sing and I can't even come up with the melody on my own?
I saw her tonight for the first time in a long time and the only thing I could bring myself to think was how much happier she would be talking to anyone else in this world besides me.
She owns parts of my soul that have no value because they were pried from a shell that housed no worth.
Everything she means to me serves as a poignant reminder that I'll only ever be as good as the person that loves me.