And now I'm just pissed.

I cried for hours. Hours today. Hour after hour, tears just welled up and tumbled out my eyeballs. I'm sure it'll change shortly, but around seven o' clock, I realised he's just being a fucking drama queen.

I understand the need to be alone and sort out the bullshit that's causing a quagmire.

But we are in love. He is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and he's told me the same thing. With him, I am a better person, the best person I've ever been. I've wrestled with some weighty heart-issues since we first got together, muddling through them knowing he's the right man for me to be with, knowing I needed to settle these things in order to continue being this better, higher quality version of myself, the one that doesn't hold onto lust and love in others just in case the current doesn't work out. I know what I want from him, and that is, very simply, him. I've never been with someone who is both good for me and doesn't bore me. Nor have I been with anyone that causes no anxiety in me whatsoever; I trusted him from day one and have received no input that makes me believe I should act otherwise. I do not feel that I need him, only that I enjoy having him around. I know I have responded in kind and that I've been a loving, trustworthy girlfriend.

But he's let this lovely thing get all fouled up. He works himself into an absolute fit and can't see a way out of it. So he's pushed me away and somehow this is supposed to be less drama for him, and better for me cuz he's freaked out about dealing with an ex girlfriend who only has to text him about an outstanding vet bill to put him into a tailspin.

Just fucking get over it already, move on with your life. Yeah, it's fucking scary to be in love. Oh no! It's way scarier to drive a fucking car; that can actually kill you. And yeah, exes popping up out of the blue frequently cause a general collapse of whatever happiness you've put together for yourself. The point is you see this and you give that chaos the finger and enjoy what you've got. The best thing that's ever happened to you. The woman you think is beautiful and incredible who gives you amazing blow jobs. You get over it, or at least take productive steps to do so, and you celebrate the wonderful things you have. You don't work your own personal feedback loop until you're brittle and wild-eyed.

Unless, of course, with your fascination with ruin and with death, and your admitted interest in craving drama, you wish to make things worse for yourself so you can spout out bullshit like, "Oh, there's that familiar feeling; the feeling of hurting people." And you can avoid eye contact because it just "makes it harder". You can let chaos win and revel in the misery of it all. Maybe you'll get a song out of it, this paralyzing emotional intensity you're feeling that you want to "calm down" by breaking up with ME.

And that's something close to the conclusion I've come to, after crying myself dry today (lying in a puddle of tears, wet tear slicked neck, while watching All That Jazz is a bit surreal). He responded to one of my frantic texts, on the general topic of WTF, ANDY, and he told me, knowing he could offer no solace, to "take care of [my] beautiful self" and I responded that taking care of myself means loving him.

I wish in all of this I weren't feeling that he's coming off as total emo douchebag. I know how beautiful he is, how strong, how elegant and magickal. Where did that Andy go?

Wherever he is, I want to wring his god damn drama queen neck.