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To The Boy That Broke My Heart

I Forgive You

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To The Boy That Broke My Heart
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“Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.” – Vicki Harrison

It took me 2 weeks to get the courage up to write this, and 17 years to finally find the words. I'd like to think that once upon a time, my love for you could have saved you and saved me, but as an adult, I realize that my love was no match for your demons, and no matter how I cut and paste the scenarios in my mind, you were simply destined to leave me. You needed peace, you needed to be free, and no matter how hard you fought, what you needed could not be found in me and would never be found in you, so at 17, you became an angel to watch over me.

I used to hate you. I hated everything about you, the way you smiled, and the silent laugh you had that would make you shake. The way your eyes reminded me of the skies and how you loved fall most of all. I took everything I once loved about you and made them bricks of resentment to build around me. I would never let anyone else in. I would never trust anyone again. I would never love anyone the way I loved you, and I would never get over you.

I compared everyone to you and reminded anyone that tried to love me that they would never win me over. I was shattered, and I always would be. How could I ever love again when the person I loved the most could just throw it all away and abandon me? To punish your ghost, I ripped up everything that even remotely reminded me of you and stopped speaking your name. At 15, I thought my life was over, and no matter what I did, I could never get past this betrayal. How dare you leave me, ME, your best friend, your first love, first kiss---how dare you leave me! I needed you, I loved you; you were everything to me. Then, I woke up one day and your ghost no longer haunted me, not because I no longer loved you or missed you, but because at 18 years old, I finally let you go.

I had to let you go. I had to set myself free from the immortal God I had made you out to be. I lost what I thought was everything to me at 15. A time in my life when I didn’t know who I was, or what I wanted to be. A time in my life when I felt like no one understood me. A time when I thought I would never be worthy of being loved because I had somehow pushed you away from me so harshly that you would have rather ended your life than be with me.

I was selfish, I was cruel, and downright mean to myself. I blamed myself for losing you and told myself if I had tried harder, if I had loved harder, you wouldn’t have left us. It wasn’t until I let you go that I realized just how much pain you were in. I realized how hard you were fighting a silent battle that no one could see. Your depression was like a dark cloud that you could not shake no matter how hard you tried, and we all knew you tried. Fake smiles and forced laughs can only get you so far. I just wish you could have seen how loved you truly were.

At 32, I often struggle with the thought of you. As the years went on, I thought of you less and less. The hole you had once left in my heart slowly started to heal, and I began to miss you less. 17 years later, it bothers me to my core that I can’t remember the sound of your voice or the way you smelled. I can’t remember the shape of your face or the features I once loved so much. Sometimes I’ll see someone that reminds me of you, but I can never put a finger on what it is that makes me think of you at that moment.

I know that I will always love you. I know that I will always remember you as the boy who told me I could conquer the world one day. I know that I will one day tell my children about my best friend that grew wings and learned to fly away.

If you or someone you know is battling depression or suicidal thoughts, please know that you are NOT alone.

Call the national suicide prevention hotline

1-800-273-8255

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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