I’ve been broken before.

I was broken when my parents got a divorce.

I was broken when I found out my little brother had a terminal disease.

I was broken throughout the entire battle for his life.

I was broken when cancer claimed the only brother I’ve ever had.

I started to break again when I dated him during senior year.

I broke more each time he threatened suicide, each day he further cut me off from my family and friends, each hour I spent fighting him over his life.

I was relieved when we broke up, thinking it was all over.

I was broken again when he and a friend blackmailed me for months with private business.

I broke even more spending my days in a courthouse to get him out of my life, for good.

But I was put back together when you came into my life.

You showed me how to have fun again.

You taught me to be happy and leave my past where it belongs.

You became my guidance, my role model, my support system, my outlet.

You showed me how love is supposed to feel.

You made me want to be in love with myself.

You were my motivation to be the best person I could be.

You were my punching bag, my shoulder to cry on, the victim to my insane levels of sass.

You gave me so many memories, so much happiness, so much respect, so much life.

You are the only man I can truly say I love with all of my heart.

But I broke the hardest when we ended things.

I break every time I see your face in my photo library.

I break every time I read through texts from when we were happy.

I break every time you come over “just for fun” and leave with yet another piece of me.

I break more each time you say I need to move on, each time you say you don’t want me, each time you ignite the silence between us.

I break when you’re nice to me, even though I know it really means nothing.

I break hearing about how you’ve moved on, how great she is, how great you are.

I still break every night that I don’t get a “Goodnight Kiana, I love you” text.

I break thinking about what could’ve been.

I break without feeling.

I am constantly breaking.

But it’s okay… I’ve been broken before.

An Open Letter to the Man Who Stole My Heart

  

I want it back.

Not the first date or the first time you told me you loved me (when I was furious with you), not even my entire freshman year of college. Not the countless memories, not the crazy shit we talked about, not the last year of my life. Nope, I don’t want any of that back.

I want my heart back. I want my freedom to fall in love again. I want my sassy, flirty attitude that made you fall in love with me. I want to be able to go to Target or the racetrack or the beach and not think of you, just once. I want my happiness back.

You aren’t willing keeping these things hostage. You’re trying really hard to give them back to me and you’re doing the best you can and I don’t blame you. (I wouldn’t want to be stuck with me either.) There’s just something crazy about accepting that once I take them back, you’re just another piece of my life’s history.

Maybe it was just me being your stereotypical crazy girlfriend, but I knew I would fall in love with you by our second or third date. You know how everyone always says, “When you know, you just know”?? Well, I thought I knew. By winter break, I had already developed pictures of our future together in my mind. I pictured a big house with a huge garage for our summer, winter, and just for fun cars and even more space for your race car(s). Not to mention the fleet of motorcycles we’d undoubtedly occupy over the years. We talked about the future and even had determined you would get me a Cayenne (it’s definitely not an if, but a when). We were seriously in love. Or so I thought.

Honestly, I knew we were having some issues. I mean I chose to avoid most of them because I was happy enough and too used to the relationship we had built together, but I knew they were there. In typical Kiana fashion, I pushed as much of the negative away and tried my hardest to focus on all of the good things. I had somebody to cuddle with (pretty much) whenever I wanted. I had somebody to cook me things, even though sometimes it didn’t turn out (suuuuper burnt meat, anyone?). I had somebody who was always there when I needed to rant about my roommate who napped 24/7 or when I was feeling down about my past or my future, or that the stupid laundry machines were all full. I was extremely excited to have you in my life.

We had talked about how things just didn’t really feel right. We tried to diagnose the problems and we tried to make things fun again. For a while, it really seemed like things were going well. It seemed like we were finally happy with how things were going again. However, in a sick twist of fate, you weren’t as happy and excited as I was about a future “us”. None of the negatives of our relationship ever went away for you and things never really got back to feeling right for you.

It took me a long time to realize I couldn’t change that. I’m still trying to grasp the whole situation, two months later. Looking back on our downfall, the only things I can ever think about is how it came to me as a huge shock. I knew we had talked about maybe trying to be apart even though we agreed it wasn’t something we really wanted, so I never thought it would actually happen. Why would I? I was insanely in love with you.

I still am, actually. Despite the endless tears that have come from the break-up. Despite all of the times I told myself I wasn’t going to love you anymore (like it was really going to be that easy). Despite all of the advice you’ve given me on moving on and getting over you. I would do it all again. But that’s not an option anymore.

You’ve been over it for two months. You’re perfectly fine. You’ve moved on… Kiana who? Yeah, you’d never consider a second chance at this. Especially because I text you with my feels all the time, I get desperate when I’m drunk, and I keep making you explain why this happened over and over again.

What’s worst is that you’re so nice about it. I mean you can be really harsh and kind of an asshole, but you do it because you know that’s what it’ll take for me to get my shit together. You’re truly trying to make me realize that I can make myself happy. I can be perfectly okay without you. You see more in me than I could ever see in myself and you let me be stupid and make mistakes and you never get mad at me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, thank you and I’m sorry.

Even though I’m still not excited to call you my ex, you’ve been a really great ex. Better yet, you’ve still continued to be an amazing friend and I am so incredibly grateful for that. We’re not talking right now (again) because I still can’t handle my shit around you and that’s probably for the better… But I want you to know how lucky I feel to have had you as a part of my life. You’re an amazing person and I truly wish you nothing but the best in your future endeavors. (God, that sounds so grownup and weird.)

I’ll be back to normal again someday, hopefully soon, but you’ll always be my favorite.