The person I often vent about here, the one who won’t talk to me anymore—because I damaged their trust and probably added more cracks to their broken heart—is ace. I am probably ace or ace-adjacent (I don’t want to fuck anyone, but I still like, idk, I feel gross talking about it), and when I really sit down, take a fucking Seroquel and think about it, probably aromantic as well. I mistook what I felt for romantic feelings, or something, idk how to really describe how my stupid thought process evolved—I wanted to be close to their heart. I envied their friends, from their “roommate” and sort of best friend (I refer to him as their “platonic boyfriend” sometimes, because it really perfectly encapsulates their relationship, I shit you not—I wish I were him) to the dipshits who just live in their neighborhood and get to see them around here or there. I lost my shit, became obsessive and weird, gradually pushed them away, and then last July I lost the only person who ever really made me happy.

I’ve moved on as much as I think I ever will. It’s wishful thinking when I say I’ll never forget them—but I think I can live with never seeing them again. It sucks not knowing if they’re alright. It sucks that I’ll never really know them, and how it almost feels like I’m lying when I say I ever did.

It sounds obsessive but they really are that amazing, and nobody will replace them because I don’t want anyone to, nor do I need anyone to. I have always been alone and it doesn’t bother me anymore.

It’s hard to deal with the shame though.