just one of those letters you write for the sake of venting but never actually send it to the person
This is all better left unsaid but I’m gonna go ahead and say it anyway because I’m already a big enough mess in this situation so why not make it a little worse
We met (does the internet qualify as meeting?) when I was like... what, 14? Fifteen? And the very first time you talked (typed...) to me, I actually thought you were really annoying. Yeah, you were the pest in the beginning. Isn’t that funny? I find it funny, in a masochistic sort of way. Then again writing this letter at all is a little masochistic on my part because God I don’t want to think about any of this anymore, but hey. I’m already a paragraph in. Back to it: I didn’t like you at first. Then I did. And then I really liked you. And by “you,” of course I mean the idealization of you that my brain constructed in lieu of actually knowing anything meaningful about who or what you really are. Hell, I can’t answer the most basic of questions about you, but that never mattered because that just made you more ~*dark and mysterious*~. God I was a stupid teenager. Fuck you, unhealthy romance movie cliches. You’ve created a population of certifiables.
To this day I don’t know why you/”you” became so important to me. I’ve experienced real, sincere friendship. My best friend, for example, is worried about me right now because she knows how much energy I’ve put into this horribly unhealthy situation. She’s got her own life going on and she still spares the energy to care about me. Another friend has spent hours upon hours on just talking to me, appreciating every little thing I had to say, never once over the course of dozens of long conversations making me feel any amount of inadequacy, let alone as much as you’ve made me feel in almost every single pseudo-conversation we have ever had. I know what it looks like when somebody actually likes me and actually gives a shit, and you were never it (and after 7 or so years I can no longer lie to myself that someday you will be), and even now with that knowledge in mind I’m still stuck on you. At least now I fully understand that it’s unhealthy and that I need to stop, that’s progress in and of itself. I still miss “you,” but I hate what “you” represent more. And then I get frustrated with myself for spending anger on you instead of working on my own life because who the fuck are you to deserve anything from me? Do you know how draining it is to feel like that, especially for somebody who you know will never give you closure because they simply do not care?
Oddly enough, I didn’t plan on ripping into you when I first opened up this document. I’d kinda prefer that the above hadn’t been written because I don’t like seeing that kind of venom in myself, but it’s there now and it’s best to let it stay out than swallow it back. You’ll never see this anyway so fuck it. Anyway, I was actually going to say the following:
I’ve done and said a lot of weird things. I’m improving now (baby steps are steps nonetheless), but at 15/16 I was completely unstable and had more than one meltdown in front of you. And that must have been really off-putting and uncomfortable for you, so I get why you ultimately distanced yourself. But it really seemed, at the time, like you still wanted to be there. After the first incident I peace’d out for a while, and then you went through something tough and I came back and offered some support. Over the course of that conversation you said two things that I wish I didn’t remember but oh look here they are:
1)you wanted me around.
2)You felt like there was “still something you could learn from me.”
Aforementioned best friend thinks that you just say deep things for the sake of hearing yourself talk, and I like to think she’s right. For the time being, though, let’s say that she isn’t.
Why did you say all of that? I sure as hell can’t figure it out because on my end you were distant, unenthusiastic, and uncannily similar to a child being dragged to the dentist whenever we talked. Not to drag on an analogy, but trying to have a conversation with you was, in fact, like pulling teeth. You’ve always disliked most of the things I enjoy, and that knocked out a lot of potential topics. Didn’t help that you rarely ever disclosed anything that was going on in your life, nor were you all that interested in whatever was going on in mine, so it’s not like we could talk about that, either. And yet, by your own words, you wanted me around and saw something genuinely valuable in our friendship.
Our best conversations were always the ones when we were debating something meaningful. It was the one time our differences worked in our favor. All these different ideologies between two people who, if they had nothing else in common, both liked to argue. I really, truly enjoyed those discussions. You did too, you said it outright once which filled me with an inordinate amount of joy. Isn’t that pitiful? You saying something nice to me was such a rare occurrence that it felt like Christmas when it finally happened. Sometimes I wish that I had pursued more of those conversations during the brief period of time when we were talking again last year. Maybe it would’ve kept you interested. But do you know how exhausting it is to be like that ALL the time? I could never just talk to you, I had to think hard about every word and always be up for a fight to keep you talking more than 3 minutes. It didn’t help that you were always talking in riddles. Just like I couldn’t just talk to you, you couldn’t just fucking say something. Everything had to be a carefully constructed, witty one-liner, or some contrived story deliberately meant to make me question what you’re saying, but not quite enough to know for sure that you’re bullshitting. There was a time when I found that charming, and if time machines ever become a thing, I will rent one out for the sole purpose of punching that version of myself in the throat. Whatever few things I think I know about you could easily be false because God knows you can’t just fucking talk to people.
I just can’t help but wonder how things would have played out if our dynamic hadn’t changed. I’m pretty sure about the instant it happened, and it was both our faults but moreso mine. You had known for a while that I had a crush on you and teased me about it pretty regularly. And that probably would’ve been fine for a normal person, but I was not normal at the time and, let’s be honest, you were a real tool sometimes. After a while I got upset. I ripped into you about it and we agreed to start over with a new rule that you wouldn’t screw with me anymore. After that everything just kinda... dipped.
The one thing that I really regret is telling you my feelings. Well actually I also regret developing those feelings in the first place but that was out of my control. Telling you was a choice, and letting it take over our friendship was my fault. Maybe if I had just ignored it and been less stupid and idealistic about falling in love with someone I truly knew very little about, then I would have seen you as someone to get to know and not just as an avatar for the expectations I had unfairly set for you. If it weren’t for that, maybe I would have appreciated you for what you were instead of getting frustrated by it. Maybe we could have actually become good friends. Real friends, not just the half-assed awkward whatever that we were. Probably not, though. Even without the weirdness, we had very little common ground. Thinking that we could’ve been friends is probably as delusional as thinking I was in love with a stranger. Seven years and you never really stopped being a stranger.
I created the baggage, you had nothing to do with that. I really have very little reason to be mad at you and in hindsight I can’t decide which of us I’m actually mad at. I thought it was you at first, but maybe I’m just mad at myself for choosing the wrong person to get attached to. You’re not bad, you’re just not meant to be part of my life no matter how much I wanted you to be. You know that children’s toy where they have to match up blocks with the hole that has the same shape? It’s kinda like a toddler trying to fit a cube in the round hole and throwing a tantrum when it doesn’t work. It’s not the cube’s fault that the kid is a dumbass.
The cube doesn’t have to be such a dick about it, though...
Like I said... I’ve done and said a lot of weird, stupid things. When I feel something, I feel it very strongly and run with it, often with regrettable results. And I’ve been spoiled with good friends who are willing to let that go. And I guess I just took it for granted that you were one of them. But not everybody can just do that, not everyone can look at an old situation with new eyes. And some people just don’t do second chances. Maybe you’re an asshole or maybe I just expect too much. I honestly don’t know if it’s better to blame you or myself. Blaming you is easier but it won’t help me be a better person; the biggest strides I’ve made in self-improvement came only after I owned up to past mistakes. But blaming myself will just keep the door open to come back and try redeeming myself to you, and having any contact with you would be the worst thing to do here.
Yet I still kinda hope you see this. Like, 10% of me wants that. The other 90 wants to backhand some sense into the 10. (Incidentally, so does my best friend. Man she deserves an award for putting up with me.) It just would’ve been nice if you had straight up told me at some point that you want nothing to do with me. It’s not like you’re opposed to being harsh, it might as well be your middle name. The final time I reached out, you went along with it. You welcomed me back, and then disappeared just when I thought we were getting close again. You never seemed like the type to bail on the people you care about. Then again, I’m not one of those people, am I? That’s the problem. The wires got crossed so badly at some point, leaving me thinking I was more important to you than I actually was, which made it all the more hurtful and confusing when you proved me wrong. Honestly, I wish you would have told me in words to fuck off. If ever you were going to be silent, I wish it would have been when I reached out in the first place. If you hadn’t responded, hadn’t acted like you were up for it only to low-key change your mind later, that would’ve been much easier than how it went. Because then even I wouldn’t be able to delude myself with what-ifs and hopes of another chance.
At nearly 22, I like to think that I’ve grown up and changed a lot since I was a teenager, and in almost every avenue of my life, I have. But then I think about you and suddenly I’m still a drama queen, still the same insecure 16 year old pining for your attention and lacking the mental fortitude to handle not getting it all over again. And that fucking sucks. But it does tell me something really important that I need to know. I need to forget about you if I ever want to get better. And I really, really want to get better. I don’t want to feel any kind of attachment or affection for you. If I could just forget that you exist as easily as you forgot me, that would be aces.
turnnoffyourmind
vaporwave
jacobvanloon
tangentwithtanner
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
yousharknotpass
