Still feel alone

... but working out why I broke things off.

I know understand why the word "break" is used in "break-up". It's a horrible, wounding, ragged-edged process, and instinctively I want to put the two pieces together again to make the pain stop.

But then I remember. I didn't feel equal, or in control of my life, or that I was doing any good. Too late, I found out that I was doing just fine. At least, that's what he said when we were staring down the barrels. But the not-trusting part (yeah, it keeps coming back to that) was the most hurtful. He didn't even mean it that way. He just thought I wasn't capable of making my own friends without his supervision.

All the progress we'd made with him not being my parent as well as my boyfriend. And in the end, I still didn't think it was enough. The unilateral nature of the separation makes me doubt myself. He was my best friend in so many ways. But now I don't have anyone here to talk it over with. And I miss him desperately.

Amazing how your mood can turn around, eh? Yesterday morning, I woke to some fairly suicidal-sounding messages. So I got up to his place as fast as I could, not knowing whether I'd find him alive or dead. No reflection on me, by the way. Suicide in Japan is a lot less taboo than it is in the (admittedly post-Christian) West. Plus, having had two experiences of suicide close to me, it outweighed the urge to resist in case he was going Fatal Attraction...

Anyway, I rang and rang and rang on the way up (even from the train, though you're not supposed to here). And when I got there, I rang and rang and rang on the doorbell, terrified that he'd done something bad. No answer. I got my keys out, but he'd put the chain on the door. WTF?? Eventually, after much more more ringing of phones and doorbells, he came to the door, stared at me, closed it, and then released the chain and I followed him inside.

I resisted the urge to punch him for making me think he might be dead. So I just cried instead. Then, as I was about to leave, he patted the bed beside him, gesturing for me to lie down and stay for a bit. I lay. After he said that I had killed him, and killed his dreams... he started to listen. He hadn't shown any emotion -- just complete withdrawal. Then, once we started talking, he eventually cried. He'd never cried at all, even in our darkest times. (That was something he took the piss out of me for!) But this time, ... tears. Floods of them. From both of us. When I left, he was lying on his back, still crying. I've something similar once before. But this time it hurt like daggers shredding me inside.

They say it's like losing a limb, but this is all in the internal organs. I can still walk, talk, carry out basic tasks, and (clearly) type. But I can't bear to think of how he is, cos then I want to call him and see. But that won't help, cos it'll draw out the inevitable process again.

Ouch ouch ouch...