Sunday ▪ January 8th, 2012 ▪ 1:36 pm

I’ve written this out many times before. I’ve never been able to keep it together when writing it, but tonight I will. I’ll force myself to, even.

Love is a strange thing. Some believe it’s the emotion the human race is based on and other’s feel as though the world would be a much better place without it. I’m still unsure, in all honesty. But now isn’t the time for my thoughts on love in general, but about a particular person and the relationship we had.

I was never really good at expressing my feelings to those I’m not close to, but I will anyway, as uncomfortable as it’s making me.

Around this time two years ago in 2009, I met a boy. His name was Joseph. He was one of the best people I’ve ever met. He made me smile, and no, not one of those cheap half smiles. He made me happy, he made everything okay. He could make me laugh even when I was so upset and didn’t want to. He made me feel beautiful, and more importantly, he made me feel loved, which wasn’t something I wasn’t used to feeling.

We met over the phone one night because of one of our friends. That night we talked for five hours about anything and everything. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like someone cared. It was great, very great in fact. We talked every day for maybe a week and a half until we started dating. It was unfortunately a long distance thing.

During our relationship I was the happiest I’d ever been in a long time. It’s weird how feelings are amplified when experiencing them after such a long time without them. Anyway, for nine months we dated. Unfortunately, like all good things, it came to an end on Tuesday, September seventh. Yes, I still remember the exact day. Days with a heavy impact do that, you know.

After our break up we talked a little, as much as it hurt me. But ya know, after a break up it always hurts to talk to them and it always hurts to not talk to them. There wasn’t any winning in the situation. After a couple weeks we stopped talking completely.

Six months later he talked to me one night on the phone. It was strange, and so many feelings were brought back. A couple days later he asked me if I still had feelings for him. I answered honestly. I still did love him, and I really never stopped.

We ended up giving it a second shot on May eighth of 2011. I felt lucky. I felt as though I was given a second chance to get everything right. I felt as if this time we would make it, like anything was possible. Unfortunately again all good things must come to an end and he broke up with me shortly after on September fourth of the same year.

And now here you are, all caught up on my long relationship history with this one person. Alas, my friend, it isn’t over. It’s never that easy.

The day he broke up with me he said something along these lines: “I’m sorry to do this. I love you, I really do but distance is too much of an issue. Find someone else.” And he was gone, just like that. In less than twenty five words he was out of my life.

I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt, I’d be an even bigger liar if I said it didn’t still hurt. It hurts as if it was yesterday. He held a gun up to my heart and promised he wouldn’t shoot, but he lied. He lied about it all and he shot me.  He watched as the bullet went in and out so quickly and just walked away. And what do I feel? Guilt, because I stained his floor.

He told me he loved me up until the day it was over. I was fool for ever believing him. I’m a fool for ever trusting anyone. I’m a fool for ever thinking that someone anywhere would want something like me. That’s what sucks about this world most of all, people lie. It’s times like this where love becomes a bad thing, because it is so easily faked and its hold easily manipulates people.

People have asked me why I think he never loved me. If you really want to know, it’s the fact he acquired a new mate the same day he broke up with me. He didn’t leave me because of distance; he left me because someone better came along.

Someone prettier.

Someone smarter.

Someone better.

Someone I’m not.

Like always.

I don’t blame him. Look at me? A stupid kid. A chubby, short, unattractive, stupid, fucking child. I wouldn’t even want me. On top of that I’m weak. I’m sad, I’m lonely, I’m naive, I’m a perfect target. People always go for the weak. Liars like him always go for the believers like me, it’s life. I would have done the same thing. I would have brought me up and slammed me down. I would have hurt me too, because that’s what humans are like. Humans love control, humans love seeing others in pain. 

People treat others like toys, like they lack emotion and are merely disposable objects for play, like they don’t matter. Human beings find joy in breaking what they’ve created. Shown in our childhood as we knock over build block pyramids, and shown as adults as we break down others.

Before you ask, no I don’t hate him. I’m not even mad at him, I could never. I don’t even blame him.

What do I hate? Myself.

Who am I mad at? Myself.

Who do I blame? Myself.

Like always.

I hate how foolish I am. I hate how naive I’ve always been. I hate how clingy I am. I hate everything about me. I’m angry because I’m an idiot. I’m angry at myself for not being good enough. I thought for once I was good enough, but like always, I’m not. I’ll never be good enough. I blame myself for not being worth it. I blame myself for everything. I blame myself for ever thinking someone would have an actual interest in me. I blame myself for thinking he ever cared.

In the end, I wish him the best. I won’t break the promises I made. I promised him that I’d make him happy, and if it’s without me then so be it. I want him to have everything he ever wanted, the perfect life, even if I’m not a part of it. Even though he might not deserve it, I hope he gets it.

I hope he never goes through what I’m going through. I hope he never gets the pain in his chest. I hope he never spends nights and days soaking his bed with tears. I hope he never goes through the muscle aches and the cramps. I hope he doesn’t get the weakness in his legs. I hope he never spends a day where he’s sick when he eats and sick when he doesn’t. I hope he never goes through the shakes. I hope he never gets the puffy red eyes and nose. I hope he never goes through being reminded wherever you go. I hope he doesn’t go through any of it. 

But, then again, at the same time deep inside of me a little bit of me wants him to. A bit of me wants him to know what I went through. A bit of me wants him to realise what I went through. A little part of me just wants him to know.

I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ll do or where I’ll end up. All I know is that right now I’m alone and scared and I don’t know what to do. I lost both my best friend and the love of my life and now there’s no one here. There’s no one to lend me a shoulder to cry on, there’s no one here at all.

There’s no one who cares.

There’s no one to talk to.

There’s no one who will listen.

There’s no one.

Like always.

.

.

Joseph, if by chance one day you read this..

I’m sorry that I love you and I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry for being clingy; I’m sorry for being an idiot. I’m sorry for not being worth it; I’m sorry for not being good enough. I’m sorry I wasn’t interesting; I’m sorry for being a bore. I’m sorry for it all, I’m so terribly sorry. Hopefully you forgive me.

I know these words won’t ever change a thing, but I love you.

.

People say that writing makes things better and it relieves you, but it doesn’t. I feel the same way I did before I wrote this.

Fuck everything.

(reblogged from old account
 date changed to date reblogged
 original date: Tuesday November 15th, 2011 7:46 Pm.)