It Sucks Living In My Head

You know what sucks?
I'm a nice person. I'm thoughtful and I'm caring. God, I hate that.
I care about people I shouldn't care about and it pisses me off in ways that you can't even imagine.
Once I love someone, they can treat me like shit and I will still care.
I might not want to be with them anymore and I might not love them, but I still care.
I've had this particular exboyfriend for a year. That's right. He's been an ex for a year now and we've stayed in touch. He's admitted that he still loves me and it was obvious I still cared about him because I still talked to him.
We didn't want to get back together but I found it hard to close that connection too.
Then, one day, he disappeared. I mean, fell-off-the-face-of-the-earth-disappeared.
I figured he was mad for a few days, or possibly out of town. Whatever, no big deal.
Then a week turned into two weeks and then some other signs led me to believe that things may not be ok and I was starting to panic.
What the hell is wrong with me? A concerned email turned into a frantic voicemail message exactly 15 minutes after I sent the email. I couldn't wait for a reply?
I had it all planned out in my head, though.
He died. He was in a horrible car accident that killed him instantly or worse yet, he lingered in a coma, on life support for days until his family made that unimaginable decision to pull the plug and let him die in peace.............and no one called me.
Why would they call me? I'm just an exgirlfriend; no one special. But here I am, in another state, worrying my ass off.
I shared my concerns with a friend who then became concerned with me and fueled my hysteria.
She started searching through local newspapers online and looking for obituaries.
Yes, you read that right. We. Were. Checking. Obituaries. We are both fucking nuts.

Then, less than an hour later, he replies.
He's not dead. He's simply no longer speaking to me.
Christ on a crutch!!
For MONTHS I've been telling myself we needed to cease communication so we could both get on with our lives but I didn't have the balls. He finally does it -without preamble- and I fucking flip out thinking he's dead.
I think I need medication.
Hey, it's ok that he's not speaking to me. As long as he's alive while he's doing it.
It sucks living in my head. I hate myself for caring with an intensity barely matched by Skippy Stalin's own self-loathing.

UPDATE:
After giving it some thought, I guess I'm not really crazy. I've experienced so much death in my family in the last year that I guess, to me, it's not a far-fetched idea that someone -anyone- close to me could die.
It still sucks.