I hurt. I’m not OK. And I never will be. You will never understand. I will never tell you how I really feel. How can I? I trusted you with the most delicate and beautiful thing in my possession, my heart, and you crushed it like it was a cockroach. There is no way you can handle the feelings I have now with the gentleness and care they need.
The pain comes in shockwaves. I’ll be fine and then it will all hit me at once. Rage. Love. Fear. Depression. I’m not OK. I don’t know what to do when it happens. I just want to destroy everything around me and then leave and never come back. I’m so angry. I’m always so angry.
I love you. I’ll never tell you though. It’s a shame, really. People don’t tell each other they love each other enough. If I tell you I love you, it will fuck everything up. Saying I love you shouldn’t fuck everything up. It’s your fault that it does.
So that’s it then. A letter you will never read written in a diary filled with emotions you can never understand. It’s all your fault. I’m not OK.