Let Me F*cking Cry

by Rhiannon Janae

I hate that these walls that enclose me had once enclosed you.

Loving something so much, while hating it even more.

All the words we never got to say; and all the ways I will have to learn how to say them to someone else.

If those walls could have talked, they would have said, “You are too young to be this damaged from a man who can’t even get a grip on himself.” “You are too smart to think the love you deserve is in the hands of a man who can’t even hold himself together long enough to stand on his own two feet.” “You are too good to let some guy who doesn’t even love himself make you feel so unloved.” If those walls could have talked, would I have listened?

Twin flames do not sit well with me. Maybe because it is toxic to be meant for someone else. And isn’t that what we were? T o x i c, yet meant for each other? We loved and hated each other just the same. Our passion gnawing at my heart like a hammer to the head. r e p e a t r e p e a t r e p e a t I never knew you could miss someone so much, all while not missing them at all.

My anger has subsided this week and has yet again been replaced with a longing for you. The cycle of hate and love I have towards you drives me mad. I have thought of locking myself up, but I know you will find a way under the cracks. Why can’t I decide how to emotionally digest you? When I hate you, I think how could I have ever loved you? On the days I love you, I think, how can I have so much hate for a ghost?

Maybe wherever you are, you are becoming the love you always knew you could become. And maybe slowly, I am becoming the love I always knew I could be. And somehow, we are both receiving it from each other without even knowing.

I want to shove the world into a dark corner and tell it to go fuck off. I want to scream out all the ways it has let me down in hopes that somebody hears me and tells me it’s all going to be okay. I want to crumble all the mistakes I have made into my palms and watch as they fall through my fingertips as nothing but dirt. I want to ask why I have such a burden to bear when all I asked for was love. I want to understand others’ heartbreak without becoming angry with how it doesn’t compare to mine. I want to wake up as a version of myself who does not live with this loss etching itself deep inside my heart. I want to see the world for what it can be, and not for all that it has not been. -let me fucking cry

A man has claimed me who does not even know himself. So that when he leaves, (and he will), no one will know who to look for.

I decided to disappear while at your funeral. I rest my head on the old wooden bench where others have sat vertically, while I lay horizontally. I wonder how many others have cried in this same pew. I wonder how many hearts have been broken in this cheap, scam of a building. I knew you would not want a funeral like this, but it was not in my hands. Nothing was in my hands any longer. I have lost everything I once held onto, including myself. I pray that maybe if I keep crying this hard, my tears will drown me, and I will fall deep under the rockiness of my own waves. Or maybe somehow my tears will sweep me through the stained glass and brush me against your shore. Then, we can walk to the beach that I have not revisited since you have been gone. Maybe if I keep crying, you will feel bad enough to come back for me.

Darling, where did it all go wrong? What hour, or what day did our thread start to unravel? My lips never left your mouth, but my heart started to dangle through your hands, like some sort of yo-yo. You kept letting me go, knowing I would always come back a little more broken than before.

So that the old me can die and we can find each other again.

I am surrounded by thousands of people, yet not one of them can feel my pain, or even know that I feel it at all.

I have changed my hair so many times since you have been gone in hopes that one of these colors will transform me into somebody else. Somebody who does not carry the weight of the failure I have clinging to my back. Because whether my eyes are opened or closed, all that races through my mind is the guilt of not being able to save you; and that is what is eating me alive.

I shouldn’t even say that I wish I was someone else, because I don’t even know who I am to begin with.

Some of the words you said to me made me so angry at myself, because now if I saw those words written to me, I would just hit delete. I would make sure you knew who you were talking to and who you were losing.

If you are recovering from someone who has caused the kind of pain that makes it hard to move your body, but even harder to sit still, just know that those who find hope in hopelessness become the version of strength that others will only envy.

Maybe next time we meet we will not dive right into the shallow side, because that’s how things get broken. Maybe next time, we can gradually tread in deep waters, slowly making sure that when we get there, we can both stand on our own two feet.

I knew I was healing the moment the sun kissed my face and the wind tangled my hair, as I thanked myself for choosing to still be here.

I used to bathe in grief. I used to let my self-pity take control of me. I would lash out at the grief with anger and malice. Now I have learned that when grief shows up, to welcome it in, sit with it for a while, then walk it out. Grief can pass through, but it no longer has a home inside of me. -acceptance