"I don't want to look back on my life anymore, it reminds me of how little there is that I can percieve ahead of me."
This is the problem with most therapy. The rumination entrenches the "pathology." And there is indeed a sense in much of what you write, LoveSick, that you cultivate this pathology as a kind of heroic difference. It's a virtual mantra of despair.
The fallacy here is your deep belief in causality. You seem to say you can't look at the past because it reminds you that you are fated by it. Actually, the rumination itself is the fate, not the events of the past. If you've been doing mindfulness training, you must know that breaking the spell cast by rumination of the past liberates you from the need to keep validating your memory.
I am puzzled that you read Rumi and feel so fatalistic about love. I assume you know his biography, that he was a cold intellectual type and was overwhelmed by love when Shams came into his life. And you know that Shams disappeared, throwing him into, um, lovesick despair. As long as you believe the experience of love is conditioned by your early deprivation of it, like your general insistence that the past is fate, you're bound to keep proving your thesis.
If you haven't read them, I suggest you read Andrew Harvey's very gay essays on Rumi. Andrew, who lives in Las Vegas, is quite a character -- brilliant, cross-dressing, mystical, crazy as a loon.
Now, if you admire Rumi, you have presumably made some investigation of Sufism, the esoteric branch of Islam that pursues aesthetics as path to ... whatever.
One sees this in your posts. You use images, you write exceedingly well and you use music -- all literally part of the Sufi path. I doubt you want to twirl in a robe like the mev levi of Konya. But you might consider making art of your madness with serious intention rather than just reactive posting.
Perhaps you could add Lacan and post-structuralism to your menu. Read Julia Kristeva, who approaches therapy as an aesthetic enterprise. Her book Black Sun, about depression, is particularly edifying. You might also read James Hillman, before he became a pop writer. Read "Revisioning Psychology" or "The Myth of Analysis."
Like most crazy people, you are already engaging in your "cure" (actually an anti-cure) with your aesthetic practice, but unless you cultivate it with intention, it becomes rote rather than insightful.
I'm just saying....