you worry about everyone but me
You won't remember it the way I do, if at all, but I remember the day I was having the worst time at work; I'd been yelled at, trying to get a whole mountain of shit sorted out for the team, and I was bawling my eyes out because I was so upset. You came over to me, said that your friend had lost their job, and rushed off to the pub to see them and comfort them, and make their day better. You looked at my tear streaked face, saw the day that I was having, and decided that the best move you could make is to leave and be with your friend, offering not a single word of comfort to me. I waited all night. You promised that you would bring me home dinner, and so I waited. Waited. At eleven in the evening I realised that you never actually intended on keeping your word, you didn't care that I had no food in the house, that I'd had a horrible day of with no kind or good interactions with people, that I'd been waiting all night for you to keep to your promise. I went to bed. The next day you told me you were home by 1am, but I knew you were lying. I knew that you'd lied about who was there, about what was happening, and that you were lying about the time you got home - because what you forgot was that you were using my bank card, my money, and I had timestamps sent to me by the bank without even asking. You never told me about that night out, and never again after that. "It was cool," all the details I got, I had to ask to find out that yes, there was another girl there but immediately you stopped talking about the night after that. You worry about everyone but me, whether I'm lying in bed on a Saturday too depressed to get up, too depressed to care about wanting to be alive; you'll rather be out, with your friends and family, than stay and care for me; to stay and try and comfort me; to stay and pretend to care. You've abandoned me in my time of need so many times because you don't listen when I try to tell you how terribly I am actually doing; you don't listen, you don't say a word - my emotions are never worth acknowledging. So why is it a shock whenever I finally explode, when I burst with everything I have not been able to express because you refuse to let me - you're always surprised, "I had no idea that's how you were feeling," but you stop talking to me after that, for a few days, and I feel like I'm being punished for trying to get help from the one person who promised I could always count on them. But I know you'd never let friends messages of need go unanswered, I know that if they asked you for the help that I have, they would get it; they would have the help and support and you would tell them you love them and listen to how they're feeling without objection. Perhaps it's me, perhaps my emotions really are that much of a burden that the idea of acknowledging them makes you want to - leave? I didn't mean to be a burden, and you haven't noticed that over the past 8 months I've carefully spoken to you about less and less, but perhaps that's my retaliation; I need to make you as unimportant to my survival as I am to yours. It's the only way this will not kill one of us.
from my collection of letters i'll never send 2023
