And the horrible unfairness of it all.
Okay, so I know you can’t control your feelings, I know that. But sometimes I can’t help wondering why she can love everyone else, but not me. Maybe there's something wrong with me, mentally, because clearly everyone else has something I don't.
When we were going out, she was still in love with her ex, and when I look back on our relationship now, on how happy I was, I can’t help but feel betrayed, like the whole thing was a lie. In the face of all her past relationships, her time with me was nothing. Yet to me, it was everything. A lot of things I’ve only discovered recently have had that same effect. Maybe that’s just life: different experiences, different perspectives, different people. But my perspective is the only one important to me, because I never listened to her side of things clearly. If so, life is horrible unfair. I probably could have stood to learn that one a little earlier.
When I was waiting for her – when I was torturing myself waiting for her because she promised! – she got a ‘girl crush’ on someone else. On someone she hardly even liked! If that wasn’t soul crushing, the next bit certainly is. Though I should take this moment to say that she never did promise that we would end up together. She simply said there was "a chance." But to my ears that was a vow of everlasting love.!
I tried to ask her out again, over eight months after she promised we’d be together again. She told me “I want to do the asking out this time.” Except there was no “this time”. Because, unbeknownst to me at the time, she was contemplating dating another ex girlfriend, who also happened to be her really close friend. A friend who she had told me I had nothing to worry about. More lies, more heart-wrenching betrayal. Though little did I know that was all bullshit and she was just saying something to get me off her back. Even though in retrospect I had no right to ask her out because even though she said there was a chance, the time it takes to get over an ex is undetermined.
I tried so hard to ensure that she still liked me, I hated myself every time we fought – I’d be sick with guilt. I’d beg her to reassure me that I still had a chance with her, but really, she’d have been lucky if she still had a chance with me, at that point. Because the truth is, I had pushed her so far away with my emotional hemorrhages that she couldn't even stand to talk to me anymore.
Finally, not all that long ago, she confessed to being in love with yet another one of her friends. Yet another person she had assured me I had nothing to worry about. Now, at this point, it’s probably worth mentioning that I didn’t really like her anymore – not even as a friend. Of course, I’m pretty sure I’ll always be carrying around the hope that one day, somehow, she’ll finally come through on all her promises – even if I’m not really waiting any longer. Though I know that she won't because it's my fault that she doesn't like me anymore. And it's my fault that I messed everything up relationship wise with her. And I should probably know that she only told me about it at that point in an effort to show that the chance we "had" was snuffed out for good. Like a tiny lit match falling into water.
Sure, she used to tell me to stop waiting, but it’s a little hard once that first spark of hope is ignited. It grows into a bush fire – I would know. And little did I know that that fire effectively burnt to a crisp any hope that ignited the original flame.
She lead me on to believe that I had a chance, she broke my heart, she made – and still is making – me feel completely worthless. Because you see, even when we were ‘just friends’ she always meant more to me than I did to her. Because all my outbursts killed my chances. Every afternoon, I’d come home to talk to her – and I’d only talk to her. I didn’t have five other people there dividing my attention. Because I didn't have other friends to talk to. I was lonely and had no self-esteem. I was interested, I asked questions, I gave her ideas and made suggestions and pretended I was fine when I honestly felt like just signing out and crying. She didn’t care. She didn’t bother when I was trying so hard, when I was being a good friend and she was barely there at all. And because I was trying TOO hard. I only have myself to blame.
So I think to myself, what did I do to deserve all that? Nothing, I answer, hoping that one day my pain now will be rewarded with great happiness. But it's only going to get worse because if this is how I act when I "do nothing" then surely something is terribly wrong with me. But then I think of David and Alex, and maybe I really did deserve this. If I did, I am so sorry. Karma really bit me in the a**. And it's only just started. But I like to think that it’s going to bite her, too. Really damn hard (maybe when she realizes – if ever – how amazing I am and that she never should have let me go). Or maybe it already has, just prematurely. But it won't. Because I was that karma. I was the horrible thing that she dreaded facing every day that I talked to her.
But this whole thing has got me thinking. We call it cheating when our partners do anything physical with anyone else. But what about emotional stuff? That’s just as wrong, and maybe I can’t claim the stuff that happened afterwards, but during? I think that would only be fair. Even though while she was with me she was completely faithful to my needs. And because of her other feelings coming into realization is why she broke it off. So she really did me a favor.
I’m sorry, you did apologise, but apologies are a lot like bandaids. Maybe they can hide the pain, even bring a little satisfaction with the knowledge that they feel guilty about what they did. But bandaids don’t fix people. They don’t heal wounds, and right now mine is bleeding and excreting puss and having salt rubbed into it all at the same time. In fact, I think it might be infected. Which is weird because bandaids help prevent infection. Guess she didn't really mean those apologies after a certain point. It would have healed by now – after over a year now, right? – if it wasn’t. Maybe it’s time to see a doctor about getting it cut out – that is, stop picking at the scab and move on; that is, never talk to you again. But I couldn't do it. Talking to you gives me something to cry about.
Once upon a time, we were amazing. We had fun. We made each other happy. Once upon a time, you cared. Part of me is glad you turned into such an a*****e – you made it easy for me to leave. But I didn't want to leave. So instead I just kept crying about you through pictures and posts in a blog. But then maybe I shouldn’t say that. You hurt me, sure, and it still really stings, but it’s an experience that might come in handy one day. Till them, I really ******** hate you. Because it's easier than hating myself.
