.....I failed. I failed by what could either be the grasp of my fingertips, or the distance to the moon....I don't know...but...he...is gone.

I should explain...I'm being very rude. I...I have been going out with a guy, who was previously my best friend, and like my brother for nine months...since early January. I can't explain how it happened, but...I realised the day after I finally said 'yes' {he had asked me out a handful of times, but previously I'd refused}...that I loved him. Not in the way that every teenage guy/girl loves their first love
{and I know that every teenage guy/girl will think that the way they love is different-maybe they're right...but...if it puts it into perspective, i have friends who once confessed that both they could see us getting hitched, having children, spending the rest of out lives together....and a couple of times, when we spoke of it, he agreed with them...and secretly I wanted it too...and I have always been against rushing into marriage/pregnancy}

....but, dearest reader {I'm reading Bronte again, can you tell?} I loved him. We weren't an outwardly passionate couple. I was terrified of letting people know, of letting my parents know...it took us 4 months before we ever kissed in public. But...we were passionate, or
maybe it was just me thinking that we were...


....we went through so much together;
- A few weeks before I said yes, his mom suffered a miscarriage. He took this badly- he had been so excited, he had always wanted a little sister, and he had told practically everyone, even though his mom was only a month into the first trimester. I think the thought of what could have been haunts him still.

- In late April, his best friend committed suicide. I know the shock and grief of it all might've made him change later, but I made sure that he knew that I was there for him, made sure that I gave him some space, but that I was there often enough so that he couldn't drown in his grief. His sorrow was multiplied by the fact that he had not really noticed anything was wrong; none of his friends had, so he was left wondering if he had been paying that much attention, if he could have prevented his friend's death

- He became quite ill, with a virus that attacked the glands in his neck, causing drowsiness, and constant tiredness. He is the type that completly stresses out before any test, and as we were at this time taking our GCSEs, so he became a zombie, torn between revising, going out and relaxing, and just curling up and satisfying a craving for sleep. He has to have constant adrenaline shots, and he avoided me, because he didn't want me to be upset by his zombie-self.

- I suffer from manic depression, quite badly. I am not allowed to take lithium tsablets for the below reason, so I just have to live with it, but I have been fighting it. When it got at its very worse, the only thing that stopped me from putting a bullet through my brain, was knowing that he was around to hold me and stop me from falling apart.

- I've also developed a problem whereby I suddenly become faint and am prone to collapsing. As the doctors don't actually know what causes this problem, or how to cure it, I can neither take medication for the problem, or for my manic depression, as one could aggravate the other, both of which could lay me out on a gurney. As a result, I wanted to protect him from how much I hurt, and he became worried of how weak I was becoming

- He had a problem with anorexia and bulimia. I won't go into details about all the reasons why, or how, only that it got down to the point where he weighed only 6 and a half stone, was barely eating anything at all, and throwing it up again later. I should have been repulsed by this, but I wasn't. It hurt so much, knowing that when we kissed, where his lips had been, how thin he was becoming. Eventually, after a long fight, he stopped.

- My parents began to argue, and then fight, and are now in the process of constantly falling out, screaming at each other, with my mom just crying, and my dad drinking through the alcoholic content of britain.

- We spent the summer apart. By cruel coincidence, whenever I wasn't away, he was, and when we did see each other, we only had a few hours together and we weren't really left alone. It wasn't anyones fault, but...

It just seemed like fate was against us. We argued, as every couple does, and in the heat of a manic depressive rage/frustration/paranoid argument, i said something I neither meant nor wanted him to do. He left me. I then begged him for one more chance, which he granted. We spent a week with time spent both together and alone. We spent a day in Birmingham which was wonderful and magical and effotlessly happy and I thought that we were both happy. He smiled like he meant it, and he told winternightwanderer that he had had an amazing day. And then he left me. Again. He said that he just couldn't love me.

What he said was fair enough. If he does not love me then he does not love me, and there is nothing I can do. But he has told me to move on, that my actions do not affect him, that he doesn't remember all the things we promised each other, that he is happy. Yet my friends who are also his friends say that he isn't myself...he is cold, and hollow, and heartless...and he isn't being himself.And now...and now, I am getting ill. The story I wrote which mentioned stress cardiomyopathy? By some cruel slant of irony, my love and my grief for him is weakening the muscles around my heart, just like my character, James. My love for him could be killing me, he has quite literally broken my heart. Yet, I cannot hate him for what he has done. And I would still give anything for him back. Anything. I love him. And its killing me.