I’m not saying I miss him. I guess I’m just missing the way he made me feel. Loved.

I’m angry. He introduced me to so many new things. Examples including: Movies I had never seen, music I had never listened to, stand up comedy. Things I can’t watch or listen to without thinking of him. Every time I see something that makes me laugh, he’s still the first one I want to tell. I loved him like he was my very own dad and I told him often. I guess that was too much. I don’t know. I feel stupid. I feel used. I feel depressed. I keep trying to fill this hole that my father left in my life and it isn’t working. I always end up hurting. And it isn’t something I do on purpose, it’s a subconscious thing.
I guess I do miss him. Immensely. I just hate that I let this happen. Why do I let these things happen? I let him walk all over me. I let myself get attached and I was too vulnerable with him. I let him see my emotions and my deepest thoughts. Things most of my closest friends don’t know about.
This was legitimately all my fault. I saw all the red flags. I even verbally acknowledged them. I let my heart take the driver’s seat and stuffed my brain and my gut feelings in the trunk with duct tape over their mouths.

She wanted me to tell her why this happened. Why, after all that she’d done for me, I went and did what I did. I told her that I didn’t know. I wasn’t thinking. Because in all honesty, I wasn’t. Not about hurting anyone. I just honestly wanted someone to care for me like my own father wouldn’t. He took it too far. By no means am I “playing the victim” here, but God knows he was older and much wiser than I. I was weak and vulnerable. I told him everything. About my father leaving, my step-father dying, and my mother’s closest friend abusing me. I was completely honest and open and he told me that he would always be there for me. That I would always be his baby girl and I would always have his shoulder to cry on. He told me he loved me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I’m angry. Because he told me he loved me over and over and over again as if he truly believed it. Hell, I did, and it got him what he wanted, I guess. I was none the wiser.

I just wish I could move on. It’s been a month now. I just want to be able to stop thinking about him. Because it’s all the time. It hurts. Is my whole life going to be like this? A whole series of screw-ups and let downs that will haunt me with feelings of regret, guilt, and depression? There has to be more to life than this. There has to.