Same old story.

TUESDAY POST

Saturday night my love told me that he does not love me anymore. At some point in the last couple months, he stopped wanting to kiss me or hold my hand. He stopped loving me. How? Tell me how, please. How do you go from one moment being entirely passionate and telling someone how amazing and sexy and wonderful they are to nothing. Fuck. My heart is once again in a million fucking pieces. But this time is different. Because this time I loved him with every inch of my being. Sure, I was disappointed in his drinking and his seeming desire to live a seedy life and then die. But fuck, I loved him. I would often just look at his arm or his face and be enamored by it. That sounds fucking crazy. I wanted to kiss him all the time. I wanted to lay next to him and feel his arms around me.

In hindsight, I knew he was over me. In hindsight I was unhappy because it was clear I could not make him happy. He had no intention of being happy. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. I don't remember anymore how losing Brian hurt but I feel like this is far worse. I almost feel like this is something I cannot come back from. Hope has left the fucking building. And the people around me are sure that this is for the best. That's kind and loving of them to say, but I feel like I've been broken for the last time, god damn it. How much more can one person take. I am strong. I am crazy strong. But this is devastation. It would be one thing if he loved me and he just didn't think we could work. But he pretty much just told me that I am un-fucking-loveable. He pretty much told me that I am undesirable. He just told me I am everything that I feared I was.

And then to top it off, I am kicked out of the place that I love living... pretty much my fairytale Minneapolis home. My bike is there. My stereo is there. My lovely food and my favorite pans are all there. And here I am in my friend's basement with my computer and my fucking clothes. I am 34 years old and I have built nothing of consequence.

He told me that I am a quality human being and it would be great if we could be friends. It's not me, it's him. Fuck him.

Last night I was there and we drank a bunch of wine and acted all normal like nothing was happening. I had told him I would be sleeping on the couch. At bed time, I put my water bottle next to the couch. He moved it into the bedroom. Fuck him. So I slept there a safe and empty distance between us. And then at some point in the morning, I just started talking. I don't fucking know why. I called him a worthless piece of shit and then apologized. And then I talked and talked and fucking talked about how I felt. I rambled really. I was still in a wine coma. I was fucking retarded. My alarm went off. It went off later than I meant for it to go off. He was listening to me. I wanted him to be at the time but now I fucking regret every word. I am not crazy. I am not fucking crazy.

After that I was on the porch trying to get some work done and I just started to cry. I could not help it. I could not stop it. I went and laid on the couch and cried. I pulled myself together but he was watching me. We both got ready. I packed up some shit in my car. He watched me, his face so hollow and sad looking. At some point we were both ready to leave. I was standing on the porch. He came out and hugged me and said he had to go. "I'm sorry," he said as he backed away. "So am I," I said as I took a drag of my smoke. He went through the door. I went through the other door and that is that.

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WEDNESDAY

The range of thoughts and emotions that rush through your body when you are losing your best friend and your life for the second time in a matter of 2 years is unbelievable. Am I revising history? Did I really love Kevin Boehlke: a 42 year old who has never committed to anyone, who has been in jail countless times, who has no real desires except to live somewhere warm until he dies young? Could he have ever, ever, ever made me happy? He feels like he's lived more life than most and I feel like I am just beginning.

I can't help but feel like I will never connect with someone the way I felt connected to him. Wait a fucking second. He didn't even like to look in my eyes. He barely ever kissed me except out of lust... it never felt out of love, at least not after a couple months in. When he told me he loved me for the first time with a grand gesture of roses on the floor, it wasn't even original. He did it the same way that he had for some other woman.

And yet, I have never felt more gutteral reactions to a person. He called me "darling, dearest, love of my life." He called me love. He told me to hurry because he missed me so much. He told me that he would always have my back. After we had already split he told me he would do anything for me. He wrote me a letter last night that said he has never felt like this over a break up in his life. He can't eat. He is so sorry that he is douche. He loves me but just not in the right way. Part of me hopes that he will never love someone in the "right way." How could I not have been enough? And yet, I worry about him and don't want him to be unhappy. I can't seem to make sense of anything right now.

I went to look at an apartment today. It's in Longfellow right by Lake Hiawatha. It is big and has a deck and a porch. It's pretty dumpy. They would let me stay 6 months. All utilities are included in rent and they are nice 50-something couple. I was excited about it when I was driving there but when I left it was fucking depressing. It's not even half as wonderful as where I was living.

I could stay in this basement and save money, but be this fucking child. I could move in with my friend who is an emotional wreck. I could keep looking for places. But the thing is, I am itching like crazy to get the fuck out as fast as possible. I need to do something. I am afraid that if I stay here, I will wither away. I can't stand the thought of seeing Kevin out and happy... I feel like I have to avoid him which means avoiding everything that I love: music, sushi and the city. And honestly, he's the only person I would have to do those things with anyway.

My marketing career is still bullshit and headed no where.

I have a few very good friends but my circle is small and separated and they are busy with their families and lives. That is wonderful but I don't fit within that world. I don't fit.

It's time for me to put up or shut up. I need to get the fuck out of this and soon. On Sunday night at 4 in the morning I walked the streets and stared at the light rail and wished to god it could just take me away.

I don't know if Hawaii is the right place, but it seems like a good jumping off point. It seems like a good place to become one with who I am and find some sort of niche in the world. I love massaging people... it makes me feel relaxed and centered and useful in this fucked up world. I can make that happen at the very least. I can lay my head on the sand in the sunshine and maybe I can find a little peace.

Or maybe I should head to Costa Rica and learn Mayan abdominal massage. Or maybe I should take off to Thailand and learn Thai body work. There are a lot of options. I am going to pick one and do it. 3 more weeks of normal classes. Foot surgery in November. CPR classes in late November. Massage certification testing after that.

I could buy my 1-way ticket for January and be gone. Can I do it? I don't think I have a choice and that's not a bad thing.