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I was a romantic, the deepest of romantics. For real real, you could not have convinced me that anything but love was the highest most meaningful and precious thing in life. Thought I had that something almost perfect in my life.
Now it's I don't know. Feeling lost and beat around, like I've been thrown in a dark hole and can't claw my way out. I keep wondering if it really was what I thought it was. Maybe all I crave is the same sort love I give and want to give to people, and this romantiscism is just positive emotions laid on personality traits that remind me of me in any person who happens to give me that love even for a minute. Or maybe she really was special.
Every day I think of putting a shotgun shell through my face, and the desire is so overwhelming that when I "sober up" for a minute it terrifies me. Feels like it's getting a bit better these last few days but it's just so hard to tell. This is true hell. Fuck I miss her.
I need to get laid