It’s over. Us. We. It’s back to you, and me, separate entities.
I dumped you over the phone while you were vacationing in Hawaii with your female best friend. My anger and disbelief told me you didn’t deserve much more effort than that. I don’t think I could have managed doing it in person. I would have given up before the words even stumbled out of my mouth. Heart racing, I would crumble, pulling myself towards you. My only thoughts would be of pressing myself against every possible inch of your skin. Because I loved you. I wouldn’t have been able to resist your touch. The feel of your skin against mine. The smell of your hair as I buried my nose deep into the crevice of your neck.
You are an addiction in every sense. My body ached in withdrawals from the lack of your mere presence. You know you obtain this power over me, hence why you used it to your advantage throughout the duration of our relationship. It makes me so angry that someone I held so dear in my heart could be so callous. To use my love as a way of manipulation – a way to assert your dominance over me, and ultimately, our relationship. I hope I never make anyone feel the pain that you put me through. But who knows? I am most definitely the farthest thing from perfection. I remind myself daily to never be blind to the emotions of those I love, because I know just how deep the hollowness exists.
What a bunch of bullshit. Seriously. What happened to the relationship I thought would last the rest of my life? I miss everything about you and at the same time, hate every fiber of your being. Maybe it was for the best – for the both of us. Isn’t that what everyone tells themselves in a feeble attempt to gain some sense of self-induced comfort? I’ve gotten pretty damn good at the whole self-induced comfort mentality, consisting mainly of whiskey and cigarettes. You always hated the fact that I drank and smoked. Oddly enough, I think you got some enjoyment out of smelling my breath and passing your negative opinion onto me over and over again. It made you feel like you were better than me. Superior.
The whole deal with your best friend (that you dated “forever ago” and was STILL in love with you, despite your reassurances that she was “like your sister”) honestly was too much to handle… I don’t know what the deal with you both truly is (I wish I could say “was”, but God only knows the bizarre connection between the two of you still exists), and I doubt I’ll ever really know. All things considered, the truth doesn’t matter at this point. I can’t believe you kept us from ever meeting for the entire duration of our relationship. An entire year. I can only imagine the lies you told her in order to protect yourself. For the longest time I hated her because I knew she never respected our relationship. Hate is exhausting, however, so my loathing turned to pity. It’s much easier this way.
I hate you for never taking my feelings into consideration. As much as you claimed you did, you were just lying to the both of us. Selfish and greedy, yes, but I think the worst of it all was your constant refusal to simply forgive and move forward. Another facet of your power over me, no doubt. The way you held every flaw of mine in front of my face, using it to justify your actions by whatever reasoning you could somehow create was cruel. Ultimately, it was one of the main reasons I began to lose myself as an individual. I didn’t know who I was anymore, and it scared the living shit out of me.
I wish you could have really looked at yourself from a perspective other than your own. You claimed that you did, but if that were the case, you would have seen the torture you were putting me through. You can’t possibly be in love with someone and knowingly inflict that much pain. I know I couldn’t. I know it for a fact.
I can’t imagine you could ever be so twisted as to get some sort of sick amusement out of the obvious emotional control you had over me, but then again, I never thought you to be the kind of man that was completely incapable of empathy. More than anything I wanted your comfort. I longed for it so badly, just the simple recognition of my struggles, my stresses, and my demons. They were always present, yet gracefully ignored, tucked away in a quiet shadowy corner. I wanted so badly for you to understand how hard it was for me to battle my depression on my own. You were so damn fixated on your image, completely unaware that I was simply trying to discover who I actually was as a human being.
Your so-called problems, or lack thereof, were always prioritized over my own. It got to the point where I contemplated even mentioning anything at all. I was speaking to deaf ears. The thought of actually being consoled and offered help by you made me laugh because I knew the chances were slim to none. I could scream at the top of my lungs and the only thing you would do was to respond with a problem of your own and elaborate on it in such a way to only imply why it was so much worse than mine. I just wanted you to listen. I just wanted you to understand. The idea feels so simple to me, yet why was it so damn impossible of a concept for you to grasp?
Because you’re selfish. And at the end of the day, you’re only truly capable of loving yourself.