My thoughts.

To begin with, she’s gone. She’s really gone and I’m pretty sure she’s never coming back.

I still don’t know what happened. As I wrote on here, she called me a week ago to tell me that she was coming home early. There was no hint of anything wrong in her voice. She simply said that they finished with the preliminary shooting early, so she was going to head back.

Of course, I, being the idiot that I am, got all excited assuming that she was coming home because she missed me. I decided to surprise her at the airport, and before I went down, I picked up a chauffer’s outfit from a local costume shop. I met her at her gate, full regalia, with her name written on a sign card and a bouquet of roses. I guess I should of noticed something was up when she didn’t run and jump into my arms, but instead gave me a lukewarm hug with a deadpan face underneath her oversized sunglasses. She was awkwardly quiet the entire ride home, brushing off all of my questions with simple one or two word answers.

We barely got through the front door before she told me. I can’t even remember her exact words. I was fucking blindsided. But the gist was this:

“You’re a fuck up. You’ve always been a fuck up. You’ll always be a fuck up. I deserve better, and I’ll find it out in Los Angeles.”

And that was it. The next 24 hours were a blur of yelling, alcohol, and moving trucks. She was obviously thinking of this for a while, since she and all her stuff were out of the house by Wednesday night. I tried calling her, but she changed her number. She blocked me on Facebook and Twitter. And since I’m giant douchebag, I don’t know any of her friends or family members’ phone numbers to find out where she is.

So here I sit in my living room. What was once a room filled with nice furniture and photos of the past four years of my life is now empty. I’m sitting on an old beanbag chair from my freshman year in college and using an overturned milk crate for a desk. Apparently all of the furniture was hers.

I’m a fucking wreck. Every time I think I’ve hit bottom, I get thrown down another level. I mean look at me. I’m a 250-pound, professional football player crying like a teenage girl. But that’s what happens when you take away a man’s rock. His best friend. His love.

I literally have nothing left…