My name is Carina Hellebore.
If you don't want to see this, then kindly scroll past, and a friendly reminder to all who follow me to kindly block the tag "Cari's Nighttime Secret Post Hours". It's only going to get darker from here.
I'm a simple girl. I may seem complex on the outside, but in truth, I'm such a simple girl.
Everyone says I'm sweet and kind and understanding.
But in truth, I have a hard time believing in that.
Ever since you left, nothing has been right.
Ever since you told me all of those promises you made were lies.
The promise that you loved me.
The promise that our past would stay in the past.
The promise that hope existed after all.
The promise that you still saw good in me.
I don't believe myself to be a bad person.
I just find myself unable to believe what others believe of me.
Because if the girl who tricked me into believing that life was okay was doing nothing more than secretly feeding off of my sorrow, pleasuring herself with it...
Then what am I to believe of anyone else?
And only I can know that for sure.
I wrote so many angry letters at you.
Handsome words I'll never say.
But if any of these songs of anguish should reach you, let it be this one.
Life has not dealt me a single fair hand since you left.
Many friends I've made only left me.
Many people I've loved were only torn from me by the cold and unforgiving universe you so love to point out.
There were glimmers of hope.
But every time I reached out to them, I only saw your face.
And just like that, it would disappear.
This is the part where you tell me I need to "grow the fuck up" and get over you.
Because you never did believe me when I said I was trying to do anything.
I don't control my nightmares.
I don't control the flashbacks that invade each and every sense I have.
I don't control what you have done to me.
But I suppose you're right in a way.
Maybe I don't want to be fine anymore.
But in truth, that's only because you tried to assure yourself that I would be.
Because as much as my suffering amused you, you were worried that my blood on your hands would make you look bad.
But in the end, I should probably thank you.
But you helped me realize that I'm not supposed to be any of those things.
And only now do I realize that I should have stayed the way I was.
For changing my ways have only brought me more pain.
So on the off chance that we should ever speak again?
I'd prefer to be called "Eta" from here on out.
But by you, and only you.
For the people I know have had the decency to hide their darkness from me, and don't deserve to see mine.
If you wish to defend yourself, or if by some act of God the girl I loved is still screaming from the abyss that was your heart, you are free to try to speak to me.
The door is open, if you really want to waste my time.
But I just want you to know that you are the worst thing that will ever happen to me. Ever.
I would sooner be fucked in the ass and thrown out into the rain than have to worry about you any longer.
At least that wouldn't even be half as sexually traumatizing as you are.
And I want you to know that I loved you.
I gave you everything I had, and whatever you didn't take with you as you left, you branded as yours anyway.
I changed myself—MUTILATED myself—for you.
But you never changed a bit.
I'm nothing that you would recognize.
So thank you for torturing me, my precious little thorn.
And thank you for slaughtering the girl I loved with all my heart.
And you have no excuse for what you have done to me.
If you didn't want to see this, Azory Keron, then you should have finished what you started, for once in your life.
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