I haven’t written about my relationship in a long time, because there was nothing happening. I wasn’t seeing the man I was dating hardly at all, and he wasn’t making efforts to see me.

I’m hurting. This isn’t as bad as the last time we broke up, but I’m still hurting. Someone said that perhaps this is his lesson. That hurts. I don’t want to be someone’s lesson. I want love. I deserve another man’s time being put in to explore a relationship. I wasn’t getting that.

I broke up with him last night, and in the few minutes we were together, he showed more tenderness than he has the past five and a half months.

He was working monstrously long hours: ten to twelve hours a day. Every single day. Seven days a week. There was no time for me.

There were two times in the past few months I expressed mild dissatisfaction with things, and his response was that perhaps I should date other men. That was unhelpful to say the least.

In the past month, I had an opportunity to tell him I was hurting, and he mocked me. He actually ridiculed me.

I’m hurting, but I can tell I will heal.

Right now, there are all sorts of things rolling around in my head that I want to say to him, but it’s over. I won’t say them. I won’t reach out.

If he reaches out to me, I’m open, but I would be totally shocked if that happened.

Doing all this with a mental illness makes me feel like I’m broken and damaged.

This post is completely disjointed, and I can’t write anymore.