Because I'm the busiest fucking person on earth, it feels like.
And really, right now this blog needs to serve one purpose, and that is: emotional outlet.
My 4 month relationship, or whatever the hell it was, with T just ended. And we've been on again/off again a few times in our relationship, but I think this one is permanent. We're burning bridges left and right. And it's hard, because I love her, and I told her that long after I knew we were ending. Because even though I knew it wasn't reciprocated, I felt like she had to know that someone she (at least once) respected felt that strongly for her.
And it was ala Steve all over again. FUCK THIS SHIT.
She's still visiting Crescent City from down south, and after our very calm and civil ending yesterday morning after the disgusting fight on Tuesday night, she tells me today that she has kidney stones and wants some info on my hospital in case she has to go there. I love her, so naturally I'm not a cunt and give her the info I can, check in to make sure she's okay, tell her to call me if she ends up coming in, yadda yadda.
Later, naturally, it declines into communication breakdown, as it always does. Because I say things as I see them, and she disintegrates into a surly teenager that can't be empathetic to my position in the slightest because she's never actually been an emotionally developed adult. Then, at a complete lapse of what to actually say, she resorts to this quasi-counselor passive agressive talk she learns in therapy, like, "It is what you say it is." So, this is my ending statement.
Dear T,
Should you ever come to the conclusion later on in therapy or from a drunk epiphany that you fucked up one of the best relationships that could've developed, I want you to remember this: don't contact me, admitting what a gihugous asshole you were and that you have regrets about your behavior. Because I already know.
That's part of why I fell in love with you, you know? Because I saw all this potential of who and what you could be, and then as you progressively gave up on yourself and when I tried to stay positive for both of us, I got my head bit off for being Pollyanna.
And in the nature of all fools in love, I tried to look at the big picture and make it work through this ridiculously hard, bullshit short term so we could develop into this badass partnership I knew we could be.
But unlike a fool, I'm a grown ass woman, and there's only so much shit I will shovel until I look at my shredded emotional self and wonder, "What the fuck am I doing dragging us forward when I'm the only one trying, and you're kicking and screaming the whole way?"
So, to salvage my self-respect, I put a kaboosh and all our emotional madness, cried a good long time for the last time, and said good-bye to you.
In writing this, which you may one day see (or not, I refuse to give two shits once I hit 'publish') I am giving you a gift. The gift of knowing these irrefutable facts "as I see them": that I loved you and might always have a piece of me that does; that I saw your potential, and the only person who destroyed it was you; that maybe a majority of your exes have cheated on you because of the fundamental thing that you denied me, and that was any sense that I was important to you at all.
I wish we could've worked. But I think that's what everyone thinks when a relationship ends, and they think back to the beginning when it was beautiful and rosy and full of promise.
And that, dear reader, is the exact emotional release I needed so I can sleep. I'll catch you up on the rest of my life, sans emotional drama, very soon.
