Rage is what I’ve been feeling since my dad visited two weeks ago. One month without talking to me or trying to reach out. The hardest month yet. The month I started my antidepressants. The month I constantly called him, remembering that he had promised me to be there for me, even if it was 2:00 am. One night, it was 2:00 am and I was holding all of my medication in my hands. It was painful. There was a war inside my head. Trying to die is mentally painful. I called him 10 times. Voicemail every time.
I was crying, of course. I don’t hold back my sobs when I’m alone, and I had locked myself in the bedroom, pushing away Anthony, and he eventually let out his frustrations by playing online. I heard him chortling at something his friends were saying. I didn’t know why I pushed him away when I was feeling alone. At the time, I was the loneliest I had ever been. I wanted to end me. I hated myself. Pure hatred. I still have pure hatred towards myself.
I ended up leaving the bedroom. I was convinced that I would die, so I decided to leave him. Break up with him so he wouldn’t hurt too much. So he wouldn’t have to find me in the bedroom, on the bed, where we had once had our most loving moments, dead. That night, I ended up in his arms, crying for hours, nauseous with cold chills. He said he would not leave me because of those reasons. He said he’d hold on to me. I had the worst headache afterwards.
Lonely is what I’ve been feeling since then. Sadness plagued my mind. Then he visited me, and sadness turned to rage. Rage stuck in my throat. I hated everything, everything disgusted me. I treated Anthony like shit. He’d say ‘I love you’, and I didn’t believe it. Not for a second. I can’t be loved.
I cried for a week. I’ve managed to not snap at him anymore. I still push him away. I pushed him away just now. He doesn’t need me anyway. With just a few days left with each other, him having to move in with his parents again to take care of his sick brother, and he still doesn’t need me in any way. Not sexually. Not for company. Not in any way.
I feel angry tears coming on. I might die soon. I’ve been close to death several times this month. Only one person has touched my soul, known the real me. He just doesn’t need me. Is there a stronger word for ‘rage’?
How can human beings live without having their souls touch?
I’m a needy, lonely piece of crap.