Me: He took it all...

For years I built a shell around me. It was a fascade of happiness and confidence. Of extroverted exuberance. I wished to experience what life had to offer while tricking myself to think above and beyond. It was built on a shelf that I thought would never move. It was a seasoned shelf of self defense that I've been constructing since I was at least 14 or 15. Ever since Momma said "stop wearing your feelings on your sleeves." It's survived everything that 30 years could throw at it. I was proud, very proud of my accomplishments. But I sit here, a broken man, because I let someone into my heart that unhinged the shelf from it's tenuous moorings. And it slid off my personage and lies on the floor in a hundred million unfixable pieces. And I don't know how to fix it because he took all the glue. And the instructions. And the desire. I want to quit. Quit my job. Quit my friends. Quit my family. Quit my life. I have never felt so raw; so exposed. So desperate and alone. So hopeless. My mind says that it will get better. Just "fake it til you make it" or "plug and chug." But I don't know about that anymore. I don't know about anything. Luke is not a bad guy. He did not cause this, per se. And this needed to happen just as he needed (obviously) to move to "greener" pastures. How will I respond to this, the most serious challenge to my life and livelihood? By becoming bitter? Resenting others for their happiness, growling under my breath, cursing God for fucking me over again? By becoming flippant? Trying to make up ways to distract myself through jokes, dancing, escapades? By becoming angry? How do I live a life that I no longer recognize? That I know longer understand?