It’s been three weeks since it happened. Three weeks I’ve been holding it in. I didn’t tell anyone for a week. I was too scared to say it out loud, because that would mean it’s real. And once I did say it, I immediately stopped talking. It happened, I’ll get over it, I thought to myself. I didn’t want to bring anyone down, so I handled it the way I would a memo about a meeting. I couldn’t talk about it. It was too painful. It still is.

“Fake it till you make it” is your motto, right? I know it is, because it’s mine, too. But the truth is, faking it is a lot harder than you expected it to be. Especially when you’re good at it. You’ll come to realize that you’ve made it to the people around you, but not with yourself. Everyone thinks you’re fine, when you’re actually just a pro at hiding how you really feel. They’ve just gotten used to this “new” you. The you that laughs too hard, or not enough. The you that can hardly hear his name without breaking down. The you that sits in the background while everyone is having fun, because you don’t want to cause a scene by not being present. The you that cries to themselves in the shower, because it’s the only place you are truly alone.

Truth is, faking it is killing you. Smiling all the time when there’s others around is killing you. You feel like you’re being beaten from the inside out, with each breath of fake laughter being a fresh punch to the gut. And crying yourself to sleep is making you wake up with new pounds of headaches, on top of the one you’ve consistently had since it happened from you trying to figure out where you went wrong.

I’m not going to be that person that tells you that everything will be okay, because I know first hand that it does nothing for you right now. You’ll appreciate it, and take it in, but it does nothing for the aching hole in the core of your chest, or the weight in the pit of your stomach. You’ll get stronger on your own, and you will be okay, you know that, but only you can tell when that is. I’m not going to be that person to tell you to sit down and devour a tub of your favorite ice cream, because I know you got nauseous just reading that. Your appetite is gone, I know. I’m not going to be the person to tell you to move on. Because until you’re ready, you’re just going to see him in every guy you meet. I won’t tell you these things, because although they may help for the moment, I know that tonight when you’re lying in bed with tears streaming down your face, those words won’t matter.

Just keep in mind that you’re not alone, as much as it may feel like it.

Loving him made everything easy. It reminded me that true, real, honest love was out there. It reminded me that I could be loved, despite the fear deep within me that tells me otherwise. It reminded me that I wasn’t alone, because I always had my best friend. It reminded me that everything was going to be okay, even if it wasn’t in that moment. I know you feel the same.

He was your best friend. The one you went to when your friends wouldn’t, or didn’t, understand. The one you didn’t hold anything back from. The one that knew everything, yes, everything, about you. And now he’s not here. And that hurts. A whole lot more than you were prepared for.

It’s time to be honest with yourself. You’re not over him. And that’s okay.

Love always,