“‘What a waste of time,’ the thought crossed my mind, but I never missed a beat.. I once had a grip on everything, it feels better to let go.. I’m not over, I’m not over you just yet. Can not hide it, you’re not that easy to forget..”
You’re not. Easy to forget that is. I mean christ, I planned my entire happy fucking future with you in every single moment.
I’m still going to write, and I’ll still move to Arizona. I’ll still go to college, and I’ll still travel to every single place I can think of in the world. Now though, with you gone, it feels like running away instead of towards.
I gave you everything. I know I’m not the best person, but who is? My only problem was my anger, and that was usually justified. I am more than ok with you hanging out with your friends and partying sometimes, even often. But every single night? And did you have to stay out until 8 am every time? I’ve definitely enjoyed plenty of parties, but once you started going every night I couldn’t stand it, why do you think I started staying home?
I wanted a real life, not some pass the time or waste it partying crap. I wanted a picnic, or a movie night, or just a nothing day where we went to work and hung out later than night, meeting each other at home, tired as hell, falling asleep next to each other.
But no, there’s no more of that. I don’t even have a job because my insecurities from when I was a kid have come back full blown, plus some.
I haven’t had these problems in 6 years, since before I ever met you, and now I have anxiety attacks when I’m forced to go into a grocery store. I wear layers of baggy clothes with a hat pulled down low over my eyes so I don’t actually have to look at anybody.
I’m a fucking freak. I pick at my face and legs and arms and there is nothing there! I used to have good skin, and now it’s full of red marks and scabs because I just can’t help myself. I don’t have a job because getting my GED would require me actually leaving my house. I’ve applied to over a thousand places online and quite a few in person, but nobody wants a highschool drop out.
Through all of this, you still cal me, still text me. What do you want? You cheated. Twice!
I broke up with you the first time 3 or more years ago and went certifiably insane just to deal with it. Two years later you’re still begging me to take you back, saying you love me and only me. But here we are, again.
Why is it always 8 months? Is there a little clock that goes off in you’re head? Riiiing riiing, oh it’s time to screw Xylinas life up all over again. Who cares how bad she used to have it back home, or how long and hard she had to work on herself to get a semblance of normalcy back. Let’s break it all into a thousand tiny little pieces, and laugh at her while she kills herself trying not to die.
What do you want from me? I already gave you everything. I’m a shell now, I’m empty. I’m a nuerotic mess of a person who thinks she’s having a heart attack at least once every other day. Who forgets that she’s still in her house because her terrible memories are taking over her mind. Who’s fought all her life to survive through more than enough bullshit but still gets to deal with trying not to commit suicide, again. Again. God I forget how many times I tried back then.
Stop asking for more! You still love me, same as last time. It was just a mistake, right? Poor you, losing the love of your life, who you can’t seem to stay loyal to. Poor you, who gets cussed out by the person who you screwed up beyond repair (again!).
You have no idea how hard it was to get to a safe place without you. Let alone get to a place where I could make myself trust you again and take you back. Trusting is harder than fucking regaining my sanity. But I did it anyway, because I stupidly loved you.
Gave you an already fragile, already broken heart. That wasn’t good enough though.
And fuck you for this because I was amazing in bed. So what was missing that made you go out and fuck my best friend?
I hate this fucking world. My childhood was fucking awful, preteen years, god don’t bring it up because I’d probably stab somebody. Now early adult years? I’ve fixed things a couple few times and it was hard as hell. Liek rebuilding a human being, which is what I did.
So you broke me again, and now, there really is absolutely nothing left.
I’m not even a shell, I don’t feel empty like I used to. I feel useless. Worthless, not depressed or self-loathing (well only sometimes), just, nothing. I am nothing anymore.
I’ve got no strength to rebuild myself. I’ve got no fear of love because it’s all a hall mark sham. I’ve got no taste for men because they’ve proven themselves to be similar (not that i like women).
I’ve got my family. My dysfunctional, secluded, fucked up but loving, family.
So I get a few hours of phone convo every couple of weeks. Or I get a couple texts. Or if it’s a good week then I actually have a real conversation with my mother. Yay.
Fuck my life. Can’t you just leave me alone? Stop asking if I still love you, because you know I do, and I always will. Stop making me want to fucking die every single day.
Or just kill me. That’d be more humane.