Why is it that whenever I come here, I'm always talking about the same fucking thing?
Thought to just face-plant this shit in here just to get it off my damn chest. I have lost sleep over this shit. I have gone five days of no goddamn shut-eye over this shit. I want this to be over with, for fuck's sake, because I. Can't. Fucking. Sleep. I can't breathe, I can't live with all of this bullshit on my damn shoulders, and I don't even know why. Why does it bother me so much? I've already come to the conclusion that all of this is all for nothing anyway, but it still gets to me. It still crawls under my skin and plants its claws so deep into my flesh that I can't claw it out.
It's so annoying. I can't fucking do this anymore.
I have spent hours, days, thinking about this, writing it all down in this multi-page motherfucking document aptly titled "Reasons Why I Think You're Really Fucking Wrong" and I won't even have the chance to send it. Never. She doesn't want to fucking read it. She never will. She likes to run away, to turn a blind eye, to cope with reality with unreality, and I'm such a fucking hypocrite because I do the same exact thing.
And why do I give a shit anyway?
I just wanted to wish her a happy birthday. I just fucking wanted to wish her a happy birthday. That's the whole reason why I asked. Just a quick, "Happy birthday. I don't have any gifts for you, but I'll make sure I'll get one sometime. Hope you're doing well." That's it. Now I have to make shit up just to keep my promise--one last goddamn promise. And why do I care? Why do I care so much about her birthday? Why do I care about her in the first place? Would that have even caused her misery, for me to show up once a year as a reminder that people like me still have enough "human fucking decency" to wish her a happy birthday, to have her know that, yeah, hope you have a fun time on the day you came into existence. I hadn't even considered it. Aren't I so selfish?
I like to convince myself that I hate her. For a lot of reasons. It’s not really because of her as a person; it’s mostly based on jealousy and also on my own issues. But I just... I hate how I’ve become attached to her. A toxic attachment, yes, and that’s on the both of us (I invalidate her views and she invalidates mine. I hid from her for so long, and now I don’t, but now the tables have turned and she's the one hiding). I hate that she actually had people in her life that supported her and adored her and weren’t as shitty as me. I hate that she has more reason to hate herself than I do, that she has more reason to give up than I ever will dream to have. I hate her, in general, because no matter what I do, it’s almost like she keeps on getting up. But who the fuck knows if she will after this. She better fucking not; I'll ressurect her just to kill her again.
I don't hate her. It's just hatred of me directed at her because I don't know how to handle it.
Because I fucking failed her. I failed her--and my perfectionistic ass can't cope with it, so I can't sleep, I can't breathe, I can't live without trying to fix it. I failed her because I should have told her about all this sooner. I should have told her from the very start what I believed in, should have actually tried to say what I believed would be able to help. But I held back in fear that I’d lose her--and that only led to me losing her more. I agreed with everything she said, and I even tried to /be/ her so that she’d keep me with her. I should have said something. But I didn’t. That’s on me. I didn’t, and I ended up exhausted. I didn’t, and here the both of us are now: hurt to hell and back, but more of that hurt is on her side, isn’t it? I’ve ruined promises, ruined goodbyes. I always wonder if she can’t stand hearing a promise anymore because of what I did. Does she always wonder if the person who promises to never leave her will at some point? Does she always wonder if someone bidding her farewell is just another way of saying that they’ll come around to harass her and hurt her at some point later on when she least expects it? And didn’t I tell her that I loved her? Did I ruin love for her, too? Or was it already ruined, ruined by people either shittier than or not as shitty as me? But that’s beside the point--because guess fucking what: she did, too. She ruined promises for me, too. Just one year after we got talking over Tumblr, she promised me that we’d work out our differences (and I alluded to there being A LOT of differences, y’know? Alluded so much so many times that I wonder if she actually knew any of this was going to happen). She promised me that she wouldn’t leave. She promised me that I’d be happy again. She's ruined love for me, too. She said she loved me (and isn’t that a petty thing for me to mention?), but she didn’t. She never did. She loved an idealized version of me, a fantasy, a person with my name and my words and my face who doesn’t even exist. One of the reasons why I’m still affecting her in the first place is because she loved that person, loved that person so fucking much that she just can’t stand her being gone, that it’s almost like she's grieving. She really shouldn’t. She shouldn’t grieve a girl who never lived.
Aren't I so fucking dramatic?
Notice how I didn’t mention how she'd ruined goodbyes? I ruined that for myself. Or maybe I ruined it all--promises, goodbyes, love--for myself. This is all on me, isn’t it? No sarcasm there. I think I should mention that, explain it more: this is on me. This is my fault. This is on me. I failed her. When I say that this happened because I never abused my keyboard for the right reasons, believe me--because it’s true. And that hurts, doesn’t it? The truth hurts. Why does it hurt so much?
I shouldn't care. So what if I think she has avoidance issues and I have problems with seeing people run away and bury themselves in blankets that won't protect them from the world? So what if I see her self-destructing, imploding in on herself without noticing it? So what if I have a savior complex, a hero complex, a superiority complex that wants to one-up people I have a beef with? So what if a part of me wants to help? I shouldn't give a single shit. She never gave a fuck about me, so why should I give a fuck about her?
Why should I care?
I just want her to understand. I want her to listen. Goddammit, I want to go in peace, and I just. Want. To. Talk. To her. What happened to communication? We have vocal cords, we have fingers to break keys, we have fucking eyeballs. I just want to talk. I just want to wish her a happy birthday. I don't want to see her keep lying to herself, pretending that she's happy this way because she fucking isn't, not from my perspective, it's just not what I'm seeing, but why do I even care.
I just want to breathe. I just want to live again. I want this burden off my shoulders so the day my body fails me I won't be fucking regretful. I already have so many regrets; I don't need more. I don't need any more. I just want this to be over with. I want to be myself again.
I want to sleep. I just want to sleep.