It was like coming off a high.
If I were to tell you how it made me feel; what I wanted to do; it was the worst three days of my entire life.
All I did was think about him, every single second of every single one of those days.
As if the last three years were rolled into one reel of film, replayed, paused and replayed. I had no care about anything but him. What he was thinking, what he was doing, what he was feeling. I closed my eyes and wished I knew.
Like a sadomasochist I wanted to relive those thoughts, his insults, his cowardliness, his stoic silence, I wanted to stab myself with the same pain over, and over again.
To tell you the truth nothing else mattered. Everything else was a blur, friends and family were a blur. Realistic interpretations of my heartbreak and strength to move on, a blur.
I was drowning in memories and regret. I was choking on his power and my weakness. Every minuscule, every mountain of emotion. I felt everything. Sad/ Relieved/ Exhausted/ Strong/ Broken/ At crossroads/ Confident/ Defeated/ Anxious/ Lost/ Found/ Angry/ Helpless. Really completely helpless.
Day through night, my emotions were running, my tears falling, and my heart, that pounding beat beneath my chest felt scratched beyond repair.
I would fall asleep crying, hugging my pillow, waking up in the middle of the night mouth dry, breath raw, needing to continue the tears. There was no stopping it, I was enslaved to the excruciating misery. His picture became a permanent instalment at the back of my eye. My lack of self-esteem spiralling to heights I never knew it could reach.
Hours would pass and suddenly, without warning, I felt the gravity and I felt broken again. That same anguish, the same uncontrollable