To You,

They tell you that life passes by in a glance. You stop paying attention, but when you take another look, a whole eternity worth of mistakes and regrets are scattered behind you on the road. I don't know why such an useless emotion like regret exists. I don't think I've regretted much of things in life, except maybe that old habit of mine, the one where I drown myself with chemicals and alcohol and try to fight back tears. I don't want this to become my life. I know that my life isn't terrible and sometimes I think I'm a horrible person for complaining. But it isn't great either and I'm not happy.

I think it's my own fault. It's always because I'm not smart enough, I don't have enough common sense, but in the end, I should have known better. Known better to stay away from you, know better to not love the wrong person, smart enough to not fall for your lies. Loving the wrong person can be one of the most painful things ever, don't you know? I think it's because hope is a terribly bright and shitty thing. There's the hope that maybe I am good enough, maybe if I work hard enough, or feel enough, or be real enough that I can change the way things are. Except I learned something the other day: sometimes feelings aren't enough. There is unfairness in that idea that I am still trying to contend with. How can my feelings not be enough if they are true? The feeling of finality is a revolting thing; this is also something I learned the other day. It ends with just the same thing as any other day, the same soft goodbye, the same embrace. You watch them leave and tears well up for no reason. Except deep down you know there is a reason. Deep down within yourself, there are no such thing as lies. And the truth is that it's over. You'll probably never see them again. Or even if you do, it'll never be filled with the same earnest intimacy that used to exist.

I used to be afraid of being close to another human being. Being intimately close mentally, to the point that even being too close to another person physically scared me. Now I've been close to another person only to be betrayed. I wasn't in love, and I wasn't rejected, but I was betrayed. Not cheated on, just betrayed. You stole feelings from me, wrung them out of me against my will, and couldn't even take care of them as a friend. And now I realize, now I know. You come into this world alone, and you leave it alone. This journey through life? It's something that must be done alone. No matter what you tell other people how you feel, the end result is that you have to deal with all the consequences of your life on your own. Isn't this a lonely thing? I don't really think so, only to discover I'm staring at my favorite vodka bottle that I only just emptied hours ago. How could you just say that "I told her from the beginning we weren't going to end up as anything"? I'd agreed with you then too, but how does anyone stop feelings from growing; these unexpected, unwanted, nasty little things? I've learned that feelings hurt so much, to the point that I feel like my heart is dying and that I could die. Even then I am strong enough to survive. A little more broken, scarred, and scared but I can overcome anything.

The other day, I was close to crying in public. But I think it was just the drink in me. That night was the night I stoged for the first time, and silly me did six because I have no emotional capacity even though I should be stronger than this. The amount of shit I've taken in since I was little fell onto my mental being like raindrops relentlessly assaulting the metal tin roof of a rickety old house. A never ending ugly repetition of mundane sounds in my mind and I am helpless against it. I can only sit there and count how many more drops I can take before I'm worn through. But I should be better than this. I can do better than you, or so people tell me. But why don't I feel it? I should be more iron clad because I've only endured years of mental abuse. But I have to learn. That it isn't my fault when me trusting someone doesn't work out. I have to remind myself that I am worthy of love. Because it's not something I believe is true most of the time. Why is something that is supposed to make me happy makes me so miserable? Makes me question, doubt, and want to cry? Does that mean it's worth it in the end? Now I know. Loving myself first and foremost is more important than learning to sacrifice for another person. Why is being selfish such a negative thing? Why is it more important to conform to social norms and care about what someone else thinks about me instead of me loving and focusing on myself? I'm so tired that I wish I could close my eyes and never wake up again. Physically and mentally. But mostly mentally.

Something I learned the other day is that being angry hurts more than being just sad. But sometimes you can't but feel angry because it feels better to be the abuser than to be the victim. To hurt someone else before being hurt even though that just means you cared more than just being sad. It takes more out of a person and hurts more than just plain sadness and tears. When the anger burns out, all I feel is sad. I'm so sad. Empty and tired.

So the end of this long rambling story is –

I'm done.

Thank you for your time and for hurting me; I wish you the best of luck on your journey through life.

Courteously,