You're 17, think you found the one. She's all you ever wanted and more. You look at her like she keeps the moon in the sky. She knows how you take your coffee. You know how she takes her tea. In the beautiful French mug (you soon throw this mug against a wall) with 3 sugar cubes and some milk. One morning, she realizes that you're not what she needs. She wants something better. Something that anxiety isn't riding like a never ending rollercoaster. Something prettier, taller, skinner. One morning, she wakes up and forgets how you like your coffee. Was it 2 sugars and 3 creams or 3 sugars and 2 creams? This question stabs you in the heart as you set her tea down on the counter beside her. She finds someone better. She finds someone better and fails to let you know until her head is between this new someone's thighs in your spot on your bed. Everything you knew about love, in the trash. This is when you throw that French mug against a wall, remembering how much she fell in love with it in the gift shop beside the Eiffel Tower. The one you thought was your all, the one you travelled half the world with, declined your love like sour milk, pouring it down the drain. As if the few years you spent together meant nothing to her. All the I love you's and sweet nothings right as the sun was coming up. In the trash like wilted flowers you forgot you were pressing between old college books. You become upset and she wants you to stay. Tries to convince you it was only once. Only one time. But you remember the times she came home with the smell of another woman on her shirt. Or the nights she did not come home at all. She tells you the next morning that she was home all night and says that your anxiety is acting up again. You tell yourself that you fell in love with the devil.
The next month you are in a new place. All alone. You haven't left bed in a few days. You've failed 5 of 8 of your final exams, which in turn means you've failed 5 of your classes. You lose your scholarship to a great university. All because of a girl you thought you were going to marry under the Eiffel Tower one day. You still wear the ring she gave you on your third anniversary. This is the beginning of our forever. She told you. One day, I'll replace this with a wedding ring. How could you be so stupid to believe her. You never thought this would happen to you. You watched as almost all the relationships around you fail, somehow convincing yourself that it wouldn't happen to you. You also convince yourself that love isn't real. You aren't worthy of love. Love will never come your way. You stop your medication, convince yourself you're better off without them. This time your anxiety is out of hand. Your OCD is through the roof. Did I lock that door? 4,5,6,7. I'm sure I didn't lock it. 1,2,3,4 Let me lock it one more time. Nothing works in your favor. Not even trying to find someone new. They laugh when you bring up your mental illness, telling you to get over it as if it's some bridge over a small pond. In reality, it's the ocean and that bridge is old and wooden and being held up by a dingy rope.
You're convinced you're broken That the homewrecker that wrecked your relationship, also wrecked your life. You are that French mug that shattered all over the floor and no one bothered to pick up. You don't think that eventually everything will get better for you.
A few weeks later, you're feeling better. You get out of bed and open the curtains. The sun bleeds in and kisses your skin for the first in what feels like 19 years. You're back on your medication. You're sleeping at night, panic attacks are under control. You are alone, but you are okay. No one is interested because everyone has someone that isn't you and you keep telling yourself that it is okay.
You decide to check up on her. See how she is doing. You scroll through her Facebook feed. They're in Italy together, drinking red wine with a beautiful view. Happy 8 months, mio amore. Eight months ago you were still together. Everything was still happy. You only broke up four months ago. Anxiety decided to visit again and everything comes crashing down. All the recovery, self-love progress, back into the garbage with the wilted flowers and mug remains. You convince yourself again that love isn't real for you. No one can ever love anyone this broken. No one will ever understand. All that you've been doing to be okay, it was gone.
A month or two later you get up. You're back in school, a community college, in a program. You make your own coffee in a big mug you haven't gotten around to throwing at a wall yet. The sun is out and the birds are singing. You sold the ring she got you. Everything is okay, for real this time. Wise men say, only fools rush in. You think you love someone. She treats you right. She cares for you from 9,670 miles away. Take my hand. Reminds you take your medicine before bed and knows how to handle your anxiety. She's perfect. She loves you more. Take my whole life, too. For your writing, the way you can express yourself with only a pen and paper. She loves the ways your mind works. She appreciates it. She appreciates you. She makes you happier than words can say. She is everything you dreamt of and more. You two start your own forever. Everything that's happened before her is no longer a problem. You're finally happy. For I can't help, falling in love with you.
