Theoretical Complications

I'm Sorry But I'm Done Now

If you really want to read the chapter that I wrote just days ago, it's on my phone. I don't expect you to want to, but if you somehow really want to, I'll be surprised but willing.

Listen, I know that I've made too many mistakes to fix what I've said and done. I just want you to know that one day, I'm leaving on my own terms, whether it be tomorrow or next year. There's nothing you'll do that'll change my mind now.

I think that you know that already. I think that you're okay with it.

I know you won't cry. I won't believe it if you tried to tell me that you'd even feel a thing. Maybe surprise, because I don't think that you believe that I had the guts to do something like that.

You're not going to believe me, but I'm done lying to you. I'm done trying to live up to what I think would keep your attention the longest.

From here on out, until the moment my heart stops beating, it's nothing but the broken truth. No matter the question, no matter the request.

I'm not going to deny that I've messed up, a lot. I've broken the trust you had in me. There's probably disbelief or mockery in your head right now as you read this. That or just a numb, unreachable depth in your mind.

You just don't care. I remember that you said that you care that I'm alive, versus dead, but that's as far as it goes. I also remember you saying that I begged for your care but turned away the kind that I didn't want. You told me that a beggar can't choose.

At the time, I believe that my retort was that I thought that my request was pretty clear about what kind of attention I wanted.

You told me once that I wasn't needy. I beg to differ, ironically.

I remember the conversation we had the night before I was shipped off to the mental ward. That's what kept me from cutting into my throat with the scissors that we used to cut out shapes for group therapy one day.

The hearts, the promises that young and dumb minds came up with. You don't really remember, do you? You don't really care either, I'd bet.

I ache to feel the blood rush over my hands as I rip into my throat with a blade of any sort. I ache to leave this hell for the kind that people have nightmares about.

There's not much worse in this world than my mind. I'm living a life that people would kill for. On the outside, I have a roof over my head and parents that say they love me. I have friends, a decent job, a loud truck, a dog that loves me, food before me, and technology at my fingertips.

It's what's on the inside that people don't want, and for good reason.

I read something on Instagram, I think. It went something like this: "...with a mind that wants to die in a body that wants to live."

You get the point, anyways. It was incredibly relatable.

I have a favorite, though: "The truth is/You could slit my throat/And with my one last gasping breath/I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt."

I can't say it enough: I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

I'm sorry for fucking up.
I'm sorry for falling for you.
I'm sorry for sending all those hearts.
I'm sorry for holding your hand.
I'm sorry for wanting you.
I'm sorry for writing this book.
I'm sorry for cutting.
I'm sorry for smoking.
I'm sorry for drinking.
I'm sorry for being so destructive.
I'm sorry for crying.
I'm sorry for being so dramatic.
I'm sorry for being suicidal.
I'm sorry for being depressed.
I'm sorry for thinking I could trust you.
I'm sorry for thinking you liked me.
I'm sorry for thinking that I mattered.
I'm sorry for thinking that I was worth it.
I'm sorry for being such a mess.
I'm sorry for being so annoying.
I'm sorry for wanting to talk to you 24/7.
I'm sorry for thinking I was doing better.
I'm sorry for thinking you wanted me.
I'm sorry for using you for a pillow that night.
I'm sorry for asking all those questions.
I'm sorry for believing in a future with you in it.
I'm sorry for wanting you to be in my life.
I'm sorry for wanting you to hang around.
I'm sorry for thinking you wanted to hang around.
I'm sorry for looking your way the first time.
I'm sorry for ever saying your name.
I'm sorry for looking you in your eyes.
I'm sorry for getting in your way.
I'm sorry for wanting to call you mine, when I really just wanted to be yours.
I'm sorry for this list.
I'm sorry for believing that I was enough for you.

I think that the saddest part of my life right now is that I can't let out any emotion but an empty smile.

Look into my eyes and tell me if you can see anything but a desperate plea for help. Look at my hands and tell me if you can see all my blood that I've let flow over my skin.

Look at my smile and tell me if you can see the pain.

I wish I could fake it better than I can. I wish I could drink enough, without throwing up, to forget you.

When I look at my hands I can remember what it was like to feel your hands in mine. When I think hard enough, I can even remember the ache in my shoulder that night.

I'd give anything to go back to the days when you'd smile at me, because of me.

It's so selfish that I wish it wasn't true.

I'm shaking. My shoulder's shaking. It's in pain and I've never felt better. Weird, isn't it?

Let's recap before I go. I'm done lying. I'm done pretending. To you, at least.

I'm done forgiving myself for tearing apart what was left.