For as long as I can remember, I wrote down whatever bad things went on in my life. If I hurt my ankle, I tested my use of adjectives to describe the pain. An eventful day was written in novel lengths. The past year and a half has been a more emotional ride; something I never experienced before.
You wouldn’t hear me out, so I wrote about you. It allowed me to think; to come up with a more intricate way to express myself. I never had the intention of spilling out our entire somewhat symbiosis-like existence. I never set out to tell the world of my false love life or how hurt I was over X, Y, and Z. Writing was, and still is, my form of therapy.
I became addicted. I was, not only in turn helping myself, but helped others relate to me and my situations. A huge amount of support came out of it. People began to felt as if I were telling their story. I was speaking to people through my way with words. Everyone had a little more piece of mind at night; no longer alone.
Yet, with each publication, I seemed to have neglect one thing. I knew there was always something missing or a noisy theme that I couldn’t seem to break. And that is when I decided to put myself in your, very large, shoes.
I was painting you as the bad guy. I made you the evil villain of my writing, and easily played the victim. I played the “sorry girl” who just wanted to talk and love you, while you became the ignorant, uncaring guy.
Once I switched the roles, the picture became bigger. It had a deeper meaning. Is it harmful that you were ignoring me? As the recipient, yes; however, for you, there was no harm. Sometimes, we all get to that point where we don’t feel like talking to someone, even if it is a simple “Hello”.
Is it bad how you were playing the field? Not at all, because we were never legit. Maybe you were genuinely busy. Plus, I believe I did the most damage of all with pulling you into my insecurity sinkhole.
You didn’t ask to pull the measures you had to. You didn’t ask for a ton weight filled voice box. You didn’t ask to be around someone who was this insanely passionate about you and the world around her. You didn’t ask for any of this.
You’re not the bad guy everyone told me you were. Just because you do, what one perceives as “bad”, doesn’t make you a “bad” person.
I’m starting to realize it all. I’m sorry for drowning you with words.