Rebuilding myself after losing you was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.

The thing is, I didn’t really lose you did I? I lost me. I threw you out.

I barely remember last December. You called me crazy I remember that.

I remember feelings and colors. I remember heat. I remember Red. Orange. That’s how it was with us. I was confused and dizzy and angry. I wanted you and you didn’t want me and you wouldn’t admit it. So we began to resent each other. We were raging more than loving and those last two months are such a blur but I remember driving home the night I knew I had to end it. I remember calling you and you telling me “No” and hanging up. I don’t know what you thought or felt but I know I thought I was going to die. And then I almost did, and I spent two weeks in the hospital and you didn’t even call. And neither did my friends. So I lost them to. You can say I’m a crazy bitch as much as you want and you’re half right. I was diagnosed with PTSD and major depression while I was in the hospital. So I’m crazy and you’re selfish and cruel. You told me I was difficult to love and nobody would ever love me the way I wanted.

No. That’s not true. It’s how you made me feel and it was refreshing to hear you finally admit it. When you finally told me you didn’t love me and hadn’t in a long time I felt lied to. I also was relieved. Because thank god you didn’t. If what we had was love I didn’t want it. We had passion, and dependence on each other, and there was a time where we truly did care about each other more than anyone else. But we were sixteen and seventeen when we started dating, silly, young and idealistic. We didn’t understand what problems we would face, or how we would change growing up. You weren’t wrong about everything. I can’t blame you for problems I caused. I can’t blame you for not knowing how to handle things when I got really sick in December. You can’t blame me either.

But I am so easy to love, and so deserving. You were wrong about that. I know why they call it a break up now. I was broken. Without you I was left with scattered shards of myself, tainted with insults. I had to put them back together like a mosaic of forgotten pieces of me. They say it takes three months to get over someone. It’s been seven. I’m in a new relationship, finishing my first book, and getting ready to move into college. I’m a healthier, happier, smarter version of myself than I ever have been. I’m planning a vacation to Universal Studios to fulfill my dream of attending Hogwarts, and keeping up with therapy, medications, and coping skills so that I can be who I really am. The hurting was worth it. The pain was worth it. The breaking was worth it. Every moment, the happy ones and the angry ones and the sad ones and the ones that didn’t make any sense. I can’t regret any of them because I love myself. They are a part of me. A strong me. I’m not lost anymore. Rebuilding myself was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. I’m so happy I did it.