If we aren’t talking anymore, then that’s okay. But being unkind isn’t okay. I deserve a lot more than that. I deserve respect and recognition. And what hurts is that someone who knows me so well thinks I don’t deserve any of those things. That really fucks with a person’s head.
None of these things matter. I’ll tell you them and then they’ll go right over your head. Maybe you’ll laugh to yourself. Maybe you’ll think, “here we go again”. I do those things, too. I wish you wouldn’t and I wish I didn’t understand why you would.
I was going to type I don’t like myself but I do. The truth is I don’t like you. It’s hard to dislike someone you love/d-- jury is still out on that one. It’s painful, like with everything else.
I tell myself I wish we could just have a conversation about it, and then I’d feel better. We could part ways and I would feel better. But I don’t think that’s true, I don’t think I’d feel better. I don’t think I’d feel worse but I don’t think this would go away.
I’m angry at myself for letting you be a part of my life. I’m angry at myself for dealing with your abuse for almost a year. I’m angry I didn’t get to say goodbye first. I’m angry that you had the audacity to lie to my face and that I believed you. I’m angry being your friend was like breathing, because the entire time I was choking. I’m so angry at myself.
I type this here so I don’t type it to you. Sometimes I wonder if I said this or that, if it would make a difference. I’ve always been looking for the perfect combination of words to make you the person you told me you were. I’ve always tried to offer the right balance of support and love.
Maybe I just suck at that. Maybe it was all manipulative and you saw the light. I have no idea. I think back and I try to figure out what I did to warrant a complete shutdown.
But I’m probably just being egocentric-- not everything is about me or because of me, as much as I’d like to think it is. This probably has nothing to do with me, but that’s hard for me to stomach, too. I wish it was, and I could twist and contort myself into a better version of me so things could be better.
But the twisting and turning has to come from you, and that will never happen. I’m not worth it (to you). There I go again, making it about me. Maybe you just can’t. Maybe you are literally incapable of the flexibility I’ve had to learn in my life (ego strikes again-- but fuck that, this is my journal and it’s for me). Maybe lots of things.
The unfortunate truth is I’m never going to know. My need to know everything is screaming at me in protest, but I guess I can’t do much about that. That’s the simple reality-- I can’t fix it. I have no control over this. Maybe that’s what I’m angry about.
As I’m typing this I think about sending it to you, because I think it’s another last ditch effort to understand. I just can’t help myself. I need to learn to be okay with not understanding. Then maybe I’ll stop being so angry at myself. I wish I was angry at you instead, that would feel better. But I’m too tired and sad.
So I take it back, above. I still think talking wouldn’t make me feel better, but not for what I believed before. I think it’s because you wouldn’t help me understand. I’ve learned to stop expecting that from you. I’ve learned to stop trusting you to give me what I ask for (and sometimes what I plead for).
Hopefully I’ll continue learning to stay away. I also feel like I’m mourning a life that I never got to live. Going to your wedding, babysitting (stealing) your children when life takes you in that direction. It seems silly to write now, but that was a reality for a long time. I’m angry at you for taking that away from me.
Kiana is sleeping next to me and I’m crying. I hurt in ways I don’t always understand, which in turn hurts even more. I think about blocking you, just so it’s finally over and done with, but that scares me. I like the possibility, even if it’s a total illusion.
I think back to the last time you did this to me (and what should have been the final time), and I wonder to myself how I managed to handle it. I’m trying to draw inspiration from younger me, who was so much stronger than I feel. I am sometimes in awe at what I’ve managed to champion, and I wonder where it all went. Well, not all. But at least 20%.
Anyway, this felt good to type out. I’ll still think about sending it to you, because that makes me feel better and more in control. Everything should be about me feeling better. Sadly, most of it isn’t.
