Mosaicked Feelings

XLIII: We Are Done

All my life, especially back in college, I used to hear one thing from people.

That I was crazy.

That I was sick in the head.

That I needed to get help -- but in the most mocking way that only must've meant that taking help wasn't the most acceptable thing.

And there had been times when I had almost begun questioning my own sanity. Spending hours and days lifelessly, isolated in my cramped-up room, while staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering where it all went wrong. Wondering why I was the way I was, and why nobody could like me. If there was one thing I had directed all my energy towards was for people to like me, to appreciate me, to fill the void of emotional unavailability inside of me. Yet, all I received, in the end, was resentment, ignorance, being taken advantage of, and tossed away once I no longer fulfilled their purpose.

And all that was until Edward appeared in my life, painting me as a portrait, I never saw in the mirror. He showed me what I thought I wasn't, and gave me the sense of self-worth I used to search in others.

But, he felt like those broken pieces that filled all my cracks, only to let go and leave me broken again, as if reinventing our love like time, just for it to last forever. It gave him purpose -- breaking me apart and fixing me, time and again. And the contrastive feeling of relief after being hurt, was what I had fallen in love with. I didn't think how soothing being fixed was, unless I was broken by him again.

The guy who I loved more than myself and most probably lost myself to, was the one thinking I was crazy to do that. Perhaps he was right, and perhaps I was.

And perhaps it wasn't the feeling of being understood as crazy, that was more hurting, but the realisation that it could be true.

Was this moment any different from the past? Perhaps yes. But even if it wasn't the same, it was equally hurting to know what Edward now supposed about me.

And these moments felt like a pattern of events, one after another, repeating every single time, except that to break free from this pattern only meant to break free of myself. And that was when I knew what I had to do. Sometimes this too shall pass only meant after I was going to.

My glazed eyes scanned the laptop screen again, back and forth, making sure I was not making this up. But it was all real, the words as evident as the hurting feelings in my chest. The bold letters that depicted the words, delusional disorder, felt like being rubbed and screamed at my face, reminding me of my new image.

I honestly wasn't even aware of what it meant, or what delusional disorder was related to, but the name of it only fueled my worst of fears -- that it was relevant to something psychotic -- and that maybe Edward might've thought I was delusional and making things up. It seemed like something Hayden in college would say to me, just to trigger out some kind of vulnerable emotion, to please his narcissistic personality.

The eerie silence was then broken by a distant shuffling sound across the room entrance, followed by the familiar words I once ached to hear, but now dreaded. I couldn't even bring myself to look up to him anymore. "Michelle..."

I kept harshly wiping my moist eyes, keeping a firm hold of his laptop, not wanting to let go of it easily this time.

"I guess you would've found out one way or another," I heard him frustratingly call out, as started to pace in my room, not meeting my eyes.

I slowly turned towards him and brought myself to look up at him, my gaze still teary. "You..." I let out a shuddering breath, trying to catch my words. "You think I'm crazy..."

"It's not what you think it is!" His wide eyes met mine, his hoarse voice was thick and loud, and as usual, he looked like he expected me to understand him. He moved towards me to take the laptop but I didn't let him, shoving it to myself. "Michelle-" He warned.