My lungs gasp for air.

I feel like I’m suffocating.

As if a large fist roughly grasps my delicate organs, and crushes them as easily as newly budded flowers.

Tears blur my vision as I stumble to my room.

Calm down.

I can’t.

You have to. Just smile.

March 23.

The date races through my head over and over, and my stomach churns at the thought of saying goodbye.

March 23.

I have five weeks.

Five to say I love you.

Five to say I’m proud of you.

Five to say goodbye.

____________________________________________________________________________

The fond memory of a young brunette boy tickles the back of my mind. His mass of moppy hair bobs from place to place as he flashes his lopsided grin at his peers.

I thought he was cute.

I thought his name was Adrian.

Fortunately for me, he wasn’t nearly as socially awkward as I was and easily replaced the fog of mystery with one of familiarity. Little did I know that after that, the rest would become history.

“Hi, I’m Andrew.”

Smooth. Definitely not Adrian.

“Hi, I’m Jackie.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Tears soaked my pillow and my sobs caused me to spasm as I attempted to calm myself down.

Attempted.

I didn’t understand why I was so upset.

Why couldn’t I stop crying?

He was still here, he wasn’t dying, he wasn’t ending what we had.

He wasn’t hurting hurting me in any way.

If anything I was being difficult, or ungrateful is the select term a small pool of family members would have said.

“It’s okay to cry, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Your feelings are completely valid.”

I couldn’t shake the thought that they were invalid, that I was overreacting.

But then it hit me harder than I expected.

The realization caused my throat to go raw as my shoulders shivered from silently allowing streams to pave their way down my cheeks.

No, he wasn’t hurting me in any way.

But he was leaving me, and I couldn’t decide whether I could pull myself together enough to be proud.

____________________________________________________________________________

There are a lot of words I could use to describe myself before meeting Andrew.

From what I saw, there are easily more than forty synonyms I could use, but a select few seemed to stand out.

Naive.

Ignorant.

Oblivious.

The ideas that swirled around in my innocent brain were much too fragile for the naked, nasty world around me. I look back now at how moronic of a question this was, but at the time he only laughed.

“So, what is Mormonism?”

“It’s my religion.”

No kidding.

____________________________________________________________________________

I silently slid down my wall, wrapping my arms around my legs in a mock fetal position.

At least I had stopped crying.

But the fear wouldn’t go away, my heart continuing to pound as the anxiety flooded through my veins.

I had to say goodbye.

So soon.

So fast.

I wasn’t ready.

____________________________________________________________________________

I remember the discussion. It was begrudgingly nonchalant, as if we were merely discussing the weather rather then his two year departure.

At the time I didn’t understand the gravity of what that meant.

I didn’t take into account what the words “I’m leaving” meant.

Instead I played it off, like it didn’t bother me, and like most other aspects of my life, I pushed it to the back of my mind.
Instead I simply said “I think it’s a great thing you’re going, and it’ll change you for the better.”

He smiled.

____________________________________________________________________________

I knew this was inevitable.

That one day a small slip of paper would turn our world upside down and inside out.

Worst of all I knew that one day, what we had would come to an end. Whether or not that was permanent remained to be seen.

Neither of us had a crystal ball to predict the future, which was ultimately terrifying.

There was only so much we could see before we reached the cliff’s edge, before we had to jump, and that one thought broke what little strength and control I thought I had.

____________________________________________________________________________

“You’re one of the most strong people I know and I know that you will get through this.”

I’m trying.

“I know sweetie. It must be so hard in a time like this. But he should understand that you love him and will miss him.”

God.

I don’t want to fight them.

But I couldn’t help but feel like they were wrong.

I knew I didn’t want the pity. I knew that I didn’t need or deserve it because I was completely OK.

But despite that, I couldn’t help but feel wrong.

I felt selfish.

I felt sick.

I felt weak.

But I couldn’t fight what they said either.

I needed friends like them at a time like this, where I hit a low I hadn’t hit in a long time.

Because of him.

The low I felt when her words snaked through the halls and hung by my ears.

“She has absolutely no respect for herself.”

The low I felt when I left home with a small gift from my mother: a blooming welt on my cheek.

“Don’t lie to me.”

The low I felt when I sat in the bathroom as I stained my legs with horizontal lines of crimson.

“I’m sorry.”

Because of him, I had made it out of the trench I nearly trapped myself in.

I had to be strong.

I was trying so hard to be strong.

I had to make myself believe they were right.

That I would be all right.

____________________________________________________________________________

The sun had set, and the day was nearly over.

Yet there I was, unable to conquer an ounce of sleep.

Maybe I’m being dramatic.

Or maybe not.

I couldn’t be the judge of that.

However, I couldn’t bring my mind to go rest. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he had said and the promise I would try so hard to keep.

“Take care of her, OK?”

I could only imagine the pain she was going through. Her brother, one of her best friends, was leaving.

For two years she would miss his hugs, his lectures, his sighs, his laugh, his tears.

She would miss him infinitely more then I ever could.

I had to be strong.

____________________________________________________________________________

So as I lay on my sunken mattress, eyes burning from the aftermath of my break down, I realized something much greater than me.

Much more beyond my selfishness, my frustration and my sadness.

If he had to leave, he had to come back.

When? I don’t know.

But the thought gives me hope.

That this, what I’m experiencing, isn’t necessarily a goodbye, but more of a see you later.