We Cannot Keep On Fixing Your Mess
Today will probably be the last full day of having you. But your leaving is something that must be done. We had you go away for a few months, but even there you were problematic. Today, your damage is irreversible. We cannot keep on fixing your mess.
But I feel like it’s all my fault. I was the deciding factor when getting you. I saw the marking on you, and took it as an omen. Within a year, the mark was gone, perhaps I was wrong all along. We knew you were destructive, but we tried anyway to fix your little issue, we hoped that you would grow out of it. You never did. It got worse. We knew you had separation issues, but we were gone for most of the day, and most days you were fine. As you know, most days are not all. During the stressful times, your panic made it worse. You acted poorly, and made poor decisions, and we had to pay. You had to pay. The stress became worse, but within a few months, it would all be fine, for a little while. You would still lash out at times, to others and to objects, but there was nothing to be done. Now, the damage is done. We cannot keep on fixing your mess.
At first I was your sole advocate. I then passed down the torch to my mother – who now can't even look you in the eye. My dad never liked you to begin with, he would joke of giving you away. But although it came off as a joke, there was some truth behind the words. My brother has an interesting relation to you. He was the only one you would ever listen to. You feared him. But you also loved him. He looked down on you, and is now the only one that thinks you can stay. Me. I did everything wrong. I singled you out, and chose you. I saw you as an equal at times, and inferior at others. There were days where you and me were the only ones who could relate. But I didn't want your approval. The entire time that I have known you, I have wondered what it has been like from your perspective. There was a time that I was closest to you. I had known that I wanted you even while your predecessor was still here. I had even chosen your name. Named after an artist, you had became a piece of art yourself. But then, I had started to distance myself from you, and even though I knew the consequences, I proceeded, and now you have gone too far. Because of me. And we cannot keep on fixing your mess.
Today might be the last time that I can sit alone in a room with you and talk. Yet, I don’t think that I will. I cannot be the one to tell you. As I wright this, I look back and see you lying there. But I look up and see the destruction as well. I am torn. I could have done more. I should have done more. Maybe, if I had spent more time with you, then this wouldn't have to be your fate. But now it’s too late. Now you will have to leave. I have failed you. And I am sorry. We cannot keep on fixing your mess.
