?

Who? What? When? How? Why?

All questions in my head, the answers to which really don't matter. Would it really hurt any less if I knew who she met? How they met? When they met? How old he is? How thin he is? How rich he is?

But the funeral was only ...

Yea but my picture was down ...

But it was really over when I moved out...

If I truly loved her, I'd be genuinely happy for her.

But I don't love. I lack the capacity to love.

I obsess.

The objects of my affection become an all encompassing, all consuming passion that serve to add an ephemeral meaning to an otherwise meaningless existence.

I'm hurt. I'm beyond hurt. I'm psychotically depressed. I'm too devastated to cry. I just have a sinking feeling in my stomach, a feeling I can't shake, a feeling buried deep within. I can FEEL the jagged shards of glass ripping apart my heart.

There have been times when I've been euphoric, chemically induced or otherwise, with a feeling that all is well in the world. This is the exact opposite.

This is the same feeling I had when she confirmed through her puppy dog eyes she was no longer attracted to me.

The same feeling I had when I looked up at her bookcase and saw our picture was gone.

How can she move on with her life as I continue to wallow in self pity. As it turns out she did want a relationship, just not with ME.

Did she ever love me?

Does it matter if she did?

So many questions and so few answers.

How do I deal with the reality that right now, nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to make me feel any better?

How ironic. She's happy. So genuinely happy, that she can't even mask the happiness in her voice.

Discarded like yesterday's news.

My reactions continue to betray me.