Dear Me,
I’m no good at this, not with life, not with relationships, not with work, not with people, not with anything.
All my happiness is fleeting — this I know very well. The pleasures are momentary. The memories will eventually fade away and leave me nothing but wants and desperate cries for ‘again’ which will never come to pass.
I push myself to the edge of the cliff and all I can feel is how the wind crashes into me like waves. I see vivid pictures in my head of expectations turning into disappointments; anger and sadness bleeding into one. I cannot tell anymore. I don’t want to be sad anymore. I don’t want to be angry, or depressed, or hurt. I don’t want to have expectations anymore, only for them to turn into broken promises.
But I can’t stop. I can’t stop.
I’m not strong. Not strong enough. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.
I’m sorry I can’t understand.
I’m sorry I’m a disappointment.
I’m sorry I’m like this.
I’m sorry I can’t support you the way you ask me to.
I’m sorry I’m like this.
Sincerely, Me.