and I guess I just hope someone can give me a sanity check. It just is a weird feeling, not quite grief, not quite shock, and not quite a mix of anger, happiness and fear. Maybe someone can help me understand, idk.

We had been together for over 8 years, and for 2 of them at this point I had given up on our relationship, just as they had given up on life. We had made a gamble that just didn't work out: I went back to school in 2021 for my bachelors in comp sci, and had a 2 year plan to graduate, hoping to get one of those 6 figure entry level jobs. Instead I finished Summa Cum Laude in 2 ½ years, and got a $55,000/yr job 2000 miles away with $60,000 in student loan debt. Not that the distance mattered, we both hated where we lived and needed the change. But the dream job remained a dream; we had to deal with reality. And they were burnt out, which I get. But I was too, and that didn't mean I could stop. For them, though, it meant not wanting to work, not wanting to do anything but smoke weed and play videogames. And that meant I had to work hard enough for the both of us, to make both our bills. And I hated it. I still have anxiety around work and bills from it, and will be on anxiety meds and bp meds for the rest of my life for it.

Eventually I had to put my foot down: They needed a job, or we were going to be homeless. I couldn't hold it all down alone anymore. And at first it was stressful for them. I know that. I tried my best to be supportive. But then they got a job, and, if they weren't at work, they were smoking weed and playing videogames or doomscrolling. Same as always. And if I needed anything else, it was a fight. I know the dream job never came, and I know that let them down. But it didn't come, and we needed to deal with the reality of the situation. Dreams don't mean shit when rent's due.

To help with the bills we moved to a cheaper apartment. Turned out it was infested with roaches. We fought for months to solve the issue, but the property changed owners 3 times in as many months. Not that the dynamic changed: Work, home, separate rooms while they smoked and I just, idk. Found my own stuff to do. We bought new furniture hoping to reinvest in us; it didn't work. At this point I was developing even worse anxiety, having to still manage our money. They ate out at work all week, still had hundreds of dollars a week for weed, while I was planning all our meals weeks out so I could cook for us affordably. God I hated them for it. Eventually family paid for us to go on vacation, and it was a welcome break. And then I got sick on the way home.

I guess I didn't know that this would be the straw that broke my back, and the anniversary I have feelings about today. I had the flu, and then bronchitis, and then walking pneumonia. They came home on a Friday, and I was in retrospect passing out from lack of oxygen and forgot to water the cats. I stood up to go to the kitchen to do it, and I just froze. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. It felt like I stood there for minutes. They looked up from bed, still smoking weed, still doomscrolling since getting home from work, and asked me if I needed help. I couldn't reply. They came up to me and grabbed me. I weakly got out I was going to fall and pass out. They got me a chair. And then I'll never forget, they walked away. They grabbed the water dish, filled it, and left me there, going right back to just smoking and doomscrolling. No hospital, no looking back, nothing. And that just, it broke something in me. I finally got the strength to get their attention. To get them to at least get me to the bathroom to get some steam hoping to loosen my phlegm. To get them to grab my phone for me. I gathered my thoughts enough to text them asking them to take me to the hospital. Nothing. So I called, just wanting any attention. They answered and saw my text, and then finally came to help. They brought me some clothes and got me downstairs to the car, where I passed out. I came to with them lost on the way to the hospital, and managed to point them the right way before passing out again. Next thing I'm in a wheelchair getting into the ER. I got treated, got a bunch of meds and care, and then released after a few hours. And I just gave up on us.

I wish I could say I left then and there. I didn't. We were too integrated, had been here too many times before. I thought I could work through it. I couldn't. Our newest landlord agreed to let us out of our lease, and so we jumped at it and moved within a couple weeks of the hospitalization. And just like every move before, it was on me to figure out and do. I was still sick, still on antibiotics and steroids, and still had to work my fulltime job while also packing us up, moving us, and handling our bills and food. I remember I was so happy the one day they offered to help. I remember all the complaints. I remember just blurting out that i had had a good day until they came home. I remember taking them to work every morning, then packing boxes to move that afternoon, then going to work for the day, then picking them up, only needing help getting them downstairs and in the car, and every time it being a fight. All I wanted was help. All I needed was help. And I had to do it alone anyways. Out one house, into another, and unpacking by myself. And then when we were finally moved, it just kept up. Work, home, weed and doom scrolling until 8, then asking me where dinner was. I finally just went home to see my family by myself, and I realized it was done. I was done.

Things just got weird after that. I came home and told them. I moved onto the couch. We tried couples therapy for a couple sessions, but after they tried to gaslight me that "they couldn't trust me to stay around" and "felt like they were single" in the first session, it was over. I was just sticking with it out of obligation at that point. We agreed to be friends and navigate separating together. That kept up right until I got sent to the hospital for high blood pressure, well over 200/130. And I'll never forget again, getting home by myself at 7 something at night from the hospital only for them to ask back to back "How are you feeling? What's for dinner?" Now THAT was a fight. After that I told them I was done cooking for them. I think there was one time months later I fried some tortillas and gave them one; that's the only time I made anything for them since. They eventually moved out, kept a spare key to visit our cat, and gave that back a month later. I asked for it, and they said they meant to leave it earlier. It was mutual.

Now I'm here, essentially a year later. 362 days and counting. This relationship, this stone I thought I could never change, is just gone. Its like an anniversary of a car accident - a year ago things were untenable but stable, and then one small accident changed everything. Things are still hard; I've been able to channel the effort it took to be their partner into a second job to make up for the lost extra income. I'm moving in 3 months finally out of this 2 bedroom apartment we got. I'm almost done refurnishing my apartment after giving them everything. I still feel some kind of way that they moved half way across the US for me, only for us to break up. I also feel like of they wanted to actually protect that investment they would have done so. I still genuinely want to be their friend. They still won't talk to me. And I just have feelings. I'm still mad over everything. I still wish them well. I still would rather lick a transformer than rekindle anything. But I wish them well. And I'm still in shock that everything changed so quickly. It's a lot. Kitty because I love them. Thank you if you made it this far.