T H E K I L L E R I N M E I S T H E K I L L E R I N Y O U
D A Y 18
I called you today. I was upset...so upset at the way my current romantic relationship was going. Happy that I could even be well enough to be in a relationship, but to him I was second-rate at best. He spoke to her 72 hours every week. I wasn't okay with this... so I asked him nicely to please stop talking to her that much. He declined, and told me he didn't care. Obviously that relationship is over.
I tried to tell myself that it wasn't that I wasn't good enough...in fact, if anyone had the problem it was them...72 hours is too much...
I needed somebody there for me...somebody like you. Like how you were always there for me, whenever I needed you.
I asked to call you, and by the time you got around to calling me I had already settled down quite a bit. I still wanted to talk, of course, to vent.
I didn't get much out of you.
"Uh huh..." was most of what I heard out of you.
"Do you care? I'm getting better!" I said happily, expecting some kind of friendly response.
"Eeeh....uh.....no..." You replied, sounding half uninterested and half annoyed.
I might not have acted like it, but that killed me.
I knew I lost my bestfriend. I deserved to lose my best friend...but to be ignored...tossed aside...treated like nothing...
"Well, I'm sorry...I was so cruel...it feels good to get that out. I'm sorry I was so cruel, you always protected me..." I whined, trying desperately to win back some of your affection.
You gasped sarcastically...like I was an idiot...not like you were happy I was recovering, and that I was level-headed, but like I was an idiot. That hurt, too. Without any words, you made it completely obvious that you didn't care whether I was in recovery, or whether I was dead, hanging on a rope in my closet.
"So, how do you feel? You can say it!" I beckoned, hoping to get some kind of acknowledgement.
"Well...nah.." you said, tossing aside my question
"Go on, say it. It's okay." I assured you.
"I just feel like...I don't want to be mean...I'm just wondering" You said hesitantly.
"Wondering why I'm talking to you..." I replied quietly completing your thought, hiding how hurt I was.
"Yeah.." You replied one final time, before I decided to spare you the awkward task of listening to me cry once again over the phone.
God, that killed me. That killed me and you didn't know...I said goodbye, and I held back my tears. You gave me a apathetic goodbye. As soon as I hung up, I cried my eyes out. I'm crying right now, just typing it out...
To literally sit there and wonder why the hell someone is talking to you...
"Why is she even talking to me? Ugh..." you must have thought, completely annoyed by my presence.
I feel like I'm not worth talking to...not worth listening to...and I know I deserve it, but I said sorry! I'm recovering! I promised I would recover! I suppose I'm not even worth getting to know...
God, I know I was cruel. I freaking know it. I messed up. But to be treated like I'm nothing... it hurts...
To know I'm alone...to know that I have to be strong without you, without the pills, without the razors. I don't have crutches to lean on anymore. It's just me, and I'm alone.
I always liked to think that if I died, you'd come to my funeral. Maybe, just maybe, you'd even cry a little bit. Maybe you'd smile because you would remember me, and remember that sometimes I was nice to be around. Now I don't think you'd come to the funeral, or cry, I think if someone told you I was dead, you'd shrug your shoulders and go back to whatever you were doing.
"How do you feel about me?" I remember asking, bothering you for attention before summer came.
"Nothing." was always your reply.
"You can't just feel nothing." I pleaded back, insistant that you must feel SOMETHING.
"Well, I do." you said, without a hint of emotion in your cold eyes.
I hate this feeling. Feeling like nobody cares...feeling like I'm just drifting by, without attachments to anybody. I hate feeling like I have nothing.
And you know what? Up until about a month ago, I thought I had nothing.
Then I lost you.
And now, I know I have nothing.
I let depression and addiction destroy my life. I used to think I might as well keep cutting, I might as well keep shoving Norco pills down my throat, because nothing mattered. I had already lost everything.
I have to regain my life. I have to. I'm alone now, and I might have nothing now, but I know if I recover I'll be able live again. I'll be able actually have things.
I'll never get over losing you. I'll never be able to replace you.
I have to be strong. I have to.
This hurts, this hurts so much. To feel like I'm nothing to you...to know you'll never think about me again...to know that in August you wouldn't notice if I never showed up for school, to know that if I dissapeared and never saw you again you wouldn't even do so much as Google my name.
It hurts.
And I'm proud to say, through all the pain, I didn't take a single pill, or cut, I just cried and I let it all out and I released my pain.
Not on the phone, not in front of you. Alone. Even if I had cried, you most likely wouldn't have consoled me. You probably would have sighed and just stayed silent...maybe even would have hung up.
It hurts still. It's going to hurt for a while.
I will be strong. If you never see me again, it's not because I've killed myself. I want you to know that.
BẠN ĐANG ĐỌC
73 Days
Phi Hư CấuA series of letters to a once best friend, a series of letters he may never get to read. There are 73 days in summer, and that means 73 days of change. From a suicidal, depressed, self-harm addicted teenager into a (hopefully) stable young woman, th...
