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Journal Entry 7/3/20

With the help of Sylvia Plath....

“I need you to do this one more thing for me. Break your image and wrench it from me. I need you to tell me in very definite concrete words that you are unavailable. I will slowly learn how not to cry at night, if only you do this one last thing.

Even if you did, I will still be trapped here alone. Because for all of the men who approach me, they will never be you. I love you from heaven to hell and back and heaven and back and have and do and will. I hoped that I was bound to you with that irrevocable love, forever. I have fought to free myself as a weight to your name. And although I‘ve been crying in desperation I have found that which I most feared out of my weakness. You could do any number of things and I would still not feel free. For I committed myself to you out of my own choice, although I could not know when I let myself first grow toward you that it would hurt, hurt, hurt me so eternally. And perhaps now, in a way I never would have known if you had felt the same way. Even now, I know I could completely love you beyond the mental reservations I’ve had about you lately. I realize that I’ve come to love you with all of my heart and soul and body; in your weakness as in your strength -and for me to love a man even in his weakness is something I have never all my life been able to do before. And if you can handle, as you did, the weakness in me which I have displayed, you must know how I love you.

You don’t ever have to respond. You could leave me thus cut open, my heart gone, and nothing will grow. Leaving me to feel only important as a convenience. I am wanting something from you which you cannot give. Understanding and Love are two different words. I feel I could never really love another man, which means I must become a consecrated single woman. I never before could even envision giving myself so totally to a man before you and the fact that you’ve determined it/us an impossibility stings.

I refuse for anyone to know my hurt; I refuse to be weak…but still I spin. And hurt. And mourn.

I could pretend, pretend to move on. To mask other men into you when I’ve been drinking. Perform to garner their admiration…but in the end I would just cry again. Hardly seems worth the effort and really, is more self-destructive than hiding my pain here all alone.

I’ve determined that I must give up on this fantasy I’ve been chasing for so many years. It’s just not in God’s plan for me I suppose. I’ll never love another like this, and it didn’t work…in such a short amount of time I went straight to the moon just to come crashing straight back down to the hells of Earth.

I am determined to never feel this pain again and resign myself to pursuits outside of love from here on out. “

Inspired by a book I’m reading and largely adapted from such.

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