Time

I am alone. And it’s liberating. And it’s terrifying.

I feel completely void, empty, numb. I’m trying to be open and be here and just to be.

And I can’t. I’m scared and burnt. There isn’t a cure. I drift through like I’m fine. I smile and I play the part. I pretend that the little jabs don’t bother me. I act like I’m comfortable with my body, with my soul. But all the while, I can’t look myself in the eye. I pretend that I don’t care about what’s happened before. But I’m lying to myself and to everyone around me.

I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I don’t cry. I act like I don’t care and that I’m fine with what’s happening. And I go home to my stoop with a cigarette and a beer and ice it out.

You hurt me. You cut so deep that if I saw you today, I’d either remain silent to the point of a clenched jaw or I’d scream until I cried. And you wouldn’t care either way. You never did. I was convenient. I was warm. I provided what you wanted. You called me artsy, you said you liked it. And at the end of the day, there “wasn’t a connection.” Because you didn’t want it. And you didn’t want to try. Not with me.

You have someone else now. It’s pretty clear. You said you were different from every other guy and you still cared and I was your friend, and I should have seen how false that was. You clearly don’t miss me and you simply couldn’t give a shit if you tried. You’re an asshole. And I’m more mad at myself than I am at you for buying it even six months on. And even if you ever read this you’d think of how much of a douche I am for saying all this instead of taking the blame.

This isn’t just about you. It’s obviously something I have to deal with eventually. And I would never wish bad things on you. But I really hope someday you understand how hurt I am. I don’t expect an apology; God knows that’s too much to ask for. I don’t want your pity because I really have done just fine without you. But some recognition of how fucked up what you did to me is would be respectable.

I go around and put myself in positions I promised myself I never would. I seek something that is clearly impossible. I force it because I want so desperately to feel like someone cares and that someone wants me. And then I get pushed aside.

But this isn’t really all about you. This is my trying to pretend and be okay with what I do to myself, with myself period. I’m a masochist, I guess. I keep the walls up because ultimately, what’s the use? Everytime I start to let my guard down or think I might have a chance it blows up in my face. I have closed myself off even to those I see every day. I hate this feeling and I know I need to shake it.

I just don’t know how.

I just need some validation.

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