Warning: This work has been rated 18+ for language.
I thought falling so hard for one person was hard... Damn, I didn’t fucking expect this.
Getting over a past love by throwing yourself into another is like ... Well, it’s like you’ve been stuck in this deep pit of water, and you’ve been free to leave this entire time but the lack of breath has become a second nature to you, maybe even more comforting than the first. And now you’re ready to get yourself out of it, but as soon as the thought crosses your mind, everything above is covered with Jell-O. You can get out of it, but it’s very uncomfortable and it takes so much strength. You think it’d be easier to just stay ... But then you find some god forsaken reason to get yourself out because maybe you miss the feeling of being able to breathe, the feeling of being able to laugh, the feeling of being able to smile. And at first, the vacancy only feels minute, and it’s so small, you think it’s an illusion. Then you just have to swim through that Jell-O, and it’s a shit ton denser than you originally thought, and now you have another challenge that you didn’t have before: as soon as your entire body is in the Jell-O, 20-pound anchors attach to each of your limbs. You already can’t breathe, and this fucking Jell-O has it out for you, and now you have anchors 80 pounds extra weighing you down ...
Maybe it would be easier to stay.
You can’t take breaks from trying to swim out because the anchors make you sink back down, and as soon as you move your body, the Jell-O morphs around you, and it seems as if you never moved- like you were made in it. It doesn’t just break into smaller pieces when you touch it. And you try so many goddamn times, but you keep getting so tired from having no air to breathe, and you can hardly ever make it one fourth of the way up, and you feel absolutely fucking pitiful for it. You notice that the closer you get to the top, though, the more you feel the vacancy in your chest grow and the more you realize you need to breathe.
And it takes you for-fucking-ever to get the strength to get up three-fourths of the way there, and you can see the top. You can see the freedom, and you can practically taste the goddamn air you haven’t been able to breathe, and your body turns on you and begins falling back into the goddamn pit. You try to fight it, but you know it’s useless. Your body has lost all of its strength. Internally, you have all the fight in the world contained in this your little fucking vessel, and you are ready to let it out, but your body is so weak. And your body misses the water because at least then there were no anchors and it was so much easier to move. And you sink back into that fucking Jell-O and the further you fall, the smaller the vacancy feels, and when you reach the water, you forget why you were trying to get out in the first place because maybe you fucking deserve this fate of not being able to breathe, not being able to laugh, not being able to smile ... And you sit at the bottom of that pit, watching the Jell-O turn into water again because you are letting yourself wither away in the Heartbreak. You’re letting you lose yourself and become something you’ll never recognize in the mirror again.
But one day, when all of the damage is so close to becoming physically permanent and fatal (God knows it’s already made your emotions get as bad as they can possibly get), you can see a light at the top. You can always see it, but it’s never seemed like such a good idea to get to it.
And so you get up, and you start swimming through the Jell-O to get to it, and the fucking anchors slow you down, but you don’t let them hold you too far down. You get so goddamn tired, but you feel as if you are getting closer, even though the more you swim, the further away it seems to get. But you feel like if you keep going, you will fucking make it. Your body gets tired, and it wants to just sink back into the Jell-O and wants the water to be your environment again, but this time isn’t like the rest. You are so fucking tired of sitting around, not being able to fucking breathe, not being to fucking laugh, not being able to fucking smile. You want to breathe, to laugh, to smile. You fucking want it, and you will get it, even if it fucking kills you, and at this point, it seems like it will, but sitting in the water at the bottom isn’t going to do you much better, and you can taste the goddamn air on your tongue.
And then your head arises from the Jell-O. You can breathe. You do breathe, like you are never going to breathe again, and you get out of the Jell-O. Each anchor has doubled in size, but you don’t care. You can fucking breathe again. You stand up and you take in the goddamn breath you missed so fucking much. Your back is turn toward the goddamn pit that kept you trapped for so long, and your body collapses into the pit that is now in front of you. And as you fall, you no longer have 40-pound anchors on each limb, no. They dissipate into four bracelets, each with an anchor charm. They can’t weigh more than an ounce. And the pit you fell into no more than a few feet deep, and you can’t really leave, but you can breathe still, and that’s when it hits you: This is how it all started.