Time is only wearing me down

November 30th, 2011by shadow-cat

I’m not suicidal, not yet any way. I’ve thought about it before, when I was younger in school. It was normally after i was bullied by my friends, if you could call them that. Then I went to college and left them all behind and I realized i didn’t have to be friends with people i didn’t like. I didn’t have to be friends with people that definitely didn’t like me. It was really nice for a while and I felt different, stronger. I had prospects, University, a good job.
I lost weight, not a lot but enough for people to notice. For guys to notice. That was amazing, I’d never felt desired before. All the attention, it gave me hope. I thought that maybe someday I would experience love, that thing that everyone talks about. I craved it so desperately. I knew other types of love don’t get me wrong, I’m very much loved by my Mum, by my Aunty, my Cousins, even my Cat. But it’s never been enough
I slept with a guy that had a girlfriend. He said he would dump her for me, I thought that meant that he truly loved me. He was my first. Then i found out that he hadn’t dumped her, he told me that it was complicated. I shut him out completely. I didn’t tell him why, I don’t think I even knew why at the time. I left my job, got a new one. I never spoke to him again.
I became more attractive, gained more admirers and I still felt the same. Isolated. I took drugs, partied hard, made friends. I tried dating boys but it was hard, they lured me in with sweet words, kindness and empathy. They would get me so far believing and then they’d slip up. I was back to being single again. Alone. This one guy had me convinced that i had stopped his player ways; he said I was to be the one to change him. I had to admit it appealed very much to my ego. His idea of a first date was to take me back to his, he introduced me to his mum and little sister, and it was awkward and uncomfortable. Then he tried to fuck me while they were downstairs watching TV. There were girl’s clothes in his room, not his sisters; she was too young for high heels and French knickers. I didn’t even notice them until he pointed them out, that was odd. Then he told me he adored me and asked me to be his girlfriend. I didn’t fuck him, I left in a hurry. I shut him out too.
I got better at my job and even got into university. I met a guy, a great guy. We worked together and he was my friend. He liked my silliness, we played pranks on each other and he didn’t mind my teasing or my cynical humor. He didn’t care that i did drugs, smoked or drank. We were the same. There was never any awkwardness; he always made me feel comfortable, interesting and wanted. I knew he liked me that was obvious. Everyone told me. I ignored them. Ignored the way he was so eager to be close to me. I pretended that we were just close friends. I miss that.
We became more. I wanted more. I wanted to be wanted. The first time we fucked i thought about pretending it was a mistake, i didn’t want to stop being his friend though. I thought about stopping it many times after that, but we kept fucking. I never stayed long; I’d leave after an hour and claim that i had to be up early. I knew he wanted me to stay but it was all so new and confusing. I didn’t like it, it scared me. It got easier over time; I didn’t have to drink every time before we had sex, I didn’t need the courage any more. I even started enjoying myself and would stay longer. We watched movies in bed, went out for dates, I even left my toothbrush round his. He wanted me to. It was so different, it was fantastic. He liked me wearing his tops to bed, cuddling me in the morning, spending days in bed together. We talked about the future, holidays, work, Birthdays and Christmas. Everything was so perfect. Better than I’d ever imagined

It was all a mistake, i should have stopped it. All of it. I became use to it, enjoyed it, and craved more of it. But he doesn’t. I can feel it, less and less each day. He doesn’t want me like he used to. Maybe it’s my fault, maybe I’m not as experienced in bed, too clingy, not fun enough; I can’t tell. I’m too afraid to ask. It doesn’t matter anymore; I know I’m going to lose him. It how I imagine having a terminal disease would feel, knowing that the end is near, I’m simply waiting. Waiting is agony. I never had patience, maybe we’ll go into remission. I’ll gain some extra time, but I know this will end.
I thought about killing myself before, when I thought no one could love me or want me. Now I want to die because you do love me. Did love me. Your love is making me sick, depressed and in so much pain. Time is only wearing me down. I remember how you used to pine for me. How spectacular is that fucking irony.

I had depression before; it wore off after a while like cheap lipstick. That was pleasant compared to this.

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