Even now, even after everything, I still want to figure you out. I still think it’s worth reaching out and asking you what happened on your side, what made you say the things you did, what you thought after the falling out, what you want now. What do you want now?
It’s not like there are any mixed messages left. You haven’t made a move since then, of course not. You learned your lesson, and it makes me angry that I can’t seem to learn mine. It makes me angry because I think of it in terms of our value; I still think you’re worth getting to know despite pain. And I’m angry that you don’t think I’m worth getting to know despite pain. I’m angry that you can talk about being interested in other people after the things you said to me.
My therapist said: why do you expect other people to use words in the same way you do? Why do you think that other people give as much thought and meaning to the things they say?
I have to keep reminding myself that wanting to reach out to you despite the feeble things you probably think of as attempts to repair is my penchant for self-sacrifice. I am used to sacrificing to earn the love of people. Isn’t your ability to move on an indication that you were never that invested?
But I don’t want to be a victim to your lack of reciprocity. I wish things had moved differently, but they didn’t move differently because of each of our actions; because I let you do whatever you want and said it was okay, and you said and did whatever you wanted. That was the agreement we had, unspoken. That you could take anything at your own pace, and I would be okay with it. At times I even expressed it directly. That I would be devoted to you, but I didn’t expect the same of you.
Why am I upset, then, if that’s the agreement we had anyways? This… is the natural conclusion of what we did. I should’ve listened to my gut. I should’ve paid attention to what you did, not what you said. Who wouldn’t say “of course I want you” when asked? I should have thought to myself “then why does it not feel like it?"
I should be angrier. I should be more guarded. I should be more careful about getting close to you again, but instead I find myself lowering my guard so that you can approach again. Instead I find myself testing and testing and testing and testing and hoping to find a crack to squeeze myself through. If you’re afraid, I can help you feel safe. If you feel unloved, I can help you feel loved. If you’re alone, I can be there for you. These thoughts swirl in my head; that if I can prove I am some missing piece to you, you’ll let me back in. You’ll try harder. You’ll learn from your mistakes in a tangible, concrete way.
After all, we get along— right? Sure. Forget that you’d rather use ChatGPT than phone a friend. Forget that you remain vague and distant. Forget that you said “wouldn’t you rather go out smelling flowers” when I said I’d rather have the truth. Forget every little bit of warning I let out, every time I asked for clarity….
It doesn’t matter why you didn’t give me clarity, what matters is that you didn’t. And I know why I am so eager to bend over backwards again to try and earn your love; I don’t think I deserve any better. And the truth is, I could make something work. I could twist and twist and twist and listen and listen and listen because I’m good at that. But I’m good at that because I will forsake myself doing it.
And I don’t want to forsake myself anymore. I want to learn how to make that mine. I want to learn how not to feel like an empty chamber waiting for the right idol to fit inside my shrine. You’re just a person. Just like I could’ve been anyone, so could you. And it’s not that I can’t or shouldn’t approach you again.
It’s that I should know if I do, things won’t go the way I want. Either I will hurt you, or you will hurt me. Because what have either of us learned? That I am attracted to you, that I see the good and potential and kindness in you, doesn’t mean I have access to any of that in chasing you. That I want you doesn’t mean you’re good for me. And I can chase you, I can try to be your friend if I really, really want to. There’s a chance it will grant me clarity. Show me who you really are. You kind of are already, aren’t you? You avoid me. For my good or yours, I don’t know, but you avoid me. And I can’t know why, because even if I ask, I won’t get a clear answer. But getting close to you will require an astronomical amount of effort that I don’t deserve to use on someone who’s long since decided it wasn’t worth opening up to.
I’m sorry for exposing you. I’m sorry for not warning you, for telling anyone about your intentions, although in hindsight maybe you were scared because you wanted me to be alone when it came to this? Maybe it would’ve been easier not to be seen as cruel? Maybe you didn’t want the accountability? But you didn’t want to have a conversation. You wanted to blame me for it. And so you did. And you were okay with that narrative. And I should be, too. I should learn my lesson. I should learn that you created the distance you wanted, and I should stay that distance away.
I could repair things, if I wanted to. But for things to be fixed, truly, it would take two sets of hands. And yours have always been tucked behind your back, or in front of your chest, guarding and safe. Just because I know how to fix things, how to have a conversation about healing, doesn’t mean I can resolve every conflict I’ve ever had because it takes two people to build that bridge again. And you… you’d be content standing on your side all on your own. Because to be vulnerable at all is to be brave, to allow someone inside your head at all is courageous, to express wanting….
I wish you’d… actually wanted me. But. Whatever your idea of wanting me was, doesn’t match up to anything substantial to me. I should listen to that. I should listen to my gut when it says you won’t try, not really, for something real. For something solid to stand on. You’ve already decided I’m not the person you want to do that for. And that’s okay. It hurt, and continues to hurt, like hell, because I thought — still think — you were. Because what person isn’t worth suffering a bit for?
Love is work, I know. I’m not afraid of work. I lean into it, even. But I should learn that not everyone deserves that work. I should learn that if I’m doing it all myself, it’s a sunk cost. And bail when I can. I should learn that I’m worth more than that. I’m worth more than just being allowed to chase, and the little crumbs you think of as meeting me halfway. I don’t do shit halfway. Meeting me where I am is meeting me where you are, because that’s how badly I wanted — want — you.
But I can teach myself that that’s no good. I can teach myself to love myself better. I can teach myself to be stronger, more self-reliant, more capable. I want love. Full, whole, warm, good love. And it won’t come from you, nothing you’ve done indicates it can come from you when all you did was run and speak sweet nothings. I’m not an idiot for believing you, or for wishing you meant anything you said. But I get to choose today, here, whether I want to stay stuck wishing for you, or keep trying to move. Yes, I am stuck thinking of you, but I am wiping the glue trap off. I am unwinding the rope. I am pulling the bandage, though it tears the hair loose, though it stings. I can learn how. I can find something real. It’s not here. And that doesn’t mean I’m not worth it; it just means it’s not here, and I should stop looking for things in places they won’t be found.
turnnoffyourmind
stormborns
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
blakekathryn
ellievsbear
izzy806
