Kind of dealing with a lot right now.

Jay, my 24-year old brother, was diagnosed with cancer or leukemia last week. He is awaiting blood test results and is having surgery tomorrow morning to remove the infected lymph nodes in his neck.

My aunt suffered a massive heart attack and was blue before she reached the hospital.

The first person that I wanted to call was my ex. But I can’t. Because of a break up. And a move to Baltimore without telling me. Leaving me in Brooklyn. And a million other reasons why. I want to smash glasses and cry at the same time. This was a person I was going to marry and spend my life with. We talked about 2.5 kids. A house. Growing old together. The picket white fence. We were together for four years. We were best friends and more. But I never talked about it. I wanted to keep up my professional appearance. But I’ve realized my Harts love me for being ME, not some version that I *think* they want to see.

I loved this person with everything I had. And I was left behind without explanation. Without closure. Two years later–this May–and I still don’t have it. I don’t want it anymore. I just want Ex to know that during a time like this that phone number is the one I still reach for first. I mean, it’s probably disconnected, right?

Then I remember. It makes me fall to my knees with pain. And feel like I can’t breathe or function. And I’m angry and sad and missing Ex all at the same time. It’s infuriating. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to care. Or need Ex. I want to be filled with rage. And hate. But I’m not. Most of the time.

Because of Ex, I’ll never trust anyone again. Ha, right? No, seriously, I’m getting TRUST NO ONE tattooed on my arm soon.

The relationship was four years of my life that I gave everything I had. I wouldn’t change a thing I did. I don’t know what I did wrong. What I said wrong. What I did that made Ex leave. Literally and figuratively. Imagine finding out from Twitter that your then-significant other has moved to Baltimore from NYC. And you go to the house, pounding on the door until your hand bleeds. And no one is there. You’re screaming in the streets of Brooklyn and there’s no one to hear you. All communication is cut off. The ONE thing this person promised they would never do they’ve done–they’ve up and left you in the middle of the night. Twitter = blocked. Instagram = blocked. Email = likely blocked. Phone calls = never happen. Flowerly lovely conversation are gone. Texts of “I love you and you’re all I think about” cease from formal “I wish you the best” to nothing.

I don’t want my Harts to think my life is perfect. That I’m living the Author Dream. I am–in a way–but there are many, many dark parts in my past and present. It’s just life.

If Ex emailed me today, I know what I would say. But that won’t happen. Instead, I have to draw strength from those who care about me.

xo