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What I really meant to say.

To Chris

Goth Stereotypes
Schizophrenic Words

I could say these things to you flat out. But I can't find a way to worm them into ordinary conversation.

Monday, September 12, 2005

For the longest time, I was upset over what had happened. Every time that I would see a couple walking down the street, I would mentally curse them and see what might happen that would cause them to break apart. I suppose I'm still like that a little bit but only with a few people and there are good reasons for that. But, couples on the street, pictures from someone's wedding in the paper, someone online using some heart emoticon of some sort, they all make me feel insignificant.
This may come as a surprise to you, but with all the things that I have endured in my lifetime, what you did to me finally made me snap. I don't remember much of the times that were right after the events. They were mainly a blur. Why? Because it hurt so bad. I'm not sure if I even want to remember everything. From what people have told me though, I stopped smiling and laughing all together. I didn't talk much either. And from everything I've heard, the changes I went through must have made life worse than death. And from what I do remember, that's what life was. Worse than death.
Sometimes, it still hurts to ball my hand up into a fist. Probably 'cause I busted my knuckles on walls so many times. Sometimes, it still hurts to watch a couple go into a jewelry store to look at wedding rings. Everytime I look at Justin and Robin or Mizu and John, I have images of everything that could make them break up. Images of things that could go wrong. Case scenarios of the worst kind in which one or both of them would end up in as much pain as I was. Them being my friends, I don't want them to go through what I did. If I could, I would live what you put me through a thousand times to keep them from experiencing that pain. But I can't. And whenever I tell them something that could help them avoid the pain, they get upset with me.
So what am I to do now? The hell you made me live isn't even able to help the people I care about. Doesn't really boost someone's self esteem, eh?
I just want to know why. That's all. You told me one too many times that I was the only one and that just being me made you happy. But, if just being me was good enough for you, why would I not be good enough for me to actually be the only one? I don't understand. I've told myself a million times that it wasn't me, that I didn't do anything wrong to make this happen. Well, I guess I'm not a very persuasive person.
I feel like I had to have been inadequate to make you not need me anymore. As many times as I've asked you what I did or why you didn't need me anymore, you've always told me that you had always needed me and still do. I don't believe it anymore. I can't believe that anymore.
I know it's pointless to ask you straight up again because you'll give me the same answer. But I just need to know. I had made so many modifications to 'me.' I tried to improve myself to make you not need anyone else. I lost sense of everything else because I was trying to make you happy with who I was. Or maybe I was trying to make myself feel like you were happy with me. It's the same with my parents. I change myself. I fix myself. I do everything within my power to make myself perfect in their eyes and I'm still not good enough for them. I guess I still think like that, think that I'm not good enough for anything. Ask anyone I know. I push myself past the point of where it would be humane. I know that it all started from trying to make my parents happy. It was mainly trying to make my dad happy. For the longest time, all I wanted to do was to make my dad proud of me, happy to be my father. After I stopped trying to make him happy, I started trying to make everyone else happy. And it passed to you.
My friends are still curious as to why I won't date anyone. They still wonder why I won't date anyone over what happened. It's because I'm afraid. The last time I was this afraid was when I was about four and my brother busted my head open with a metal pipe. But I'm not afraid of blood or physical pain anymore. I suppose that blow to the head got that out of me. But I'm terrified of love. There are maybe two people in the entire world that I don't resent for saying that they love me. And one of them is my cousin, John.
Everytime that you say you still love me, it tears me apart. Because I think of all the times when I thought it was true. I think of all the times that I was sure it was real. Everytime you say something about how it upsets you to see me the way I am, guess what. That tears me apart too. Because the way I am now is more like the real me than anything I had changed into because I was trying to be a perfect 'me' for you.
I don't know. It's just something I need to know and somethings I needed to say. Bev noticed that I smile a lot more lately. I suppose I'm finally getting better, eh?

And that's what I really meant to say.