• goodbye.

    by  • November 18, 2011 • Breaking Up • 0 Comments

    Three years of happiness, a year of denial, and half of year of slow angst.

    I tried to be strong, tried to be the rational one. Yes, it hurt. Yes, it was difficult. But it was for the best. I was no longer happy, and I was making you unhappy. After months of tears and confusion you finally let me go.

    But you know me better than anyone else. You know me better than I know myself. I wanted to go our separate ways. You thought we could figure it out.

    “Why can’t you try? I’d try for you.”

    “Are you going to give up on us, just like that, after all these years?”

    “I need you. You’re the only good thing in my life.”

    Do you know how much fucking pressure that is? You know how to manipulate me, and I believe your intentions were genuine and loving, but I was ready to move on. And you knew I wouldn’t say no. How could I? Your life is in shambles, and I hate how conceited it sounds, but I really was the only fucking good thing in your miserable life.

    I tried to help you so many times. You didn’t need it. And now you do? Fine. I’m back. Now what? You made no progress, only more excuses. I want to be sympathetic, but I just don’t understand what holds you back. And until you figure it out, you’ll never get your shit together.

    I came back. I tried to push you, to help you realize your goals. But there was always something wasn’t there? I loved you, I think I always will. I’ll always care. So I stayed.

    But how many times do I have to tell you that you have to do this for yourself? Your motivation can’t be me. It has to be you. It’s unsustainable if it’s for anyone but yourself.

    I tried. I honestly did. But my love for you has changed. I want to take care of you, I want to help you, but I don’t want to be with you anymore.

    I’m going forward, you’re standing still. I have goals, you have excuses. I’m going to be someone – and it’s because I’ve worked really fucking hard and I haven’t stopped. While you sit on your ass for eight months a year, pretending to be marginally useful, I literally juggle a full time job, a full academic schedule, and extra cirrciulars.

    Can you even comprehend how awkward it is for me when people ask about you? Oh, he’s not in school. No, he’s not working either. What does he do? Well I really have no fucking idea either. They wonder why I’m with you. I tell them you have potential, that you were one of the smartest guys I knew. It was true, half a decade ago. Then you spiraled down. It’s not even justifiable. Nothing even happened to you. Nothing for me to base my sympathy on. You just got lazy. You felt entitled – things would just work out.

    No, things don’t just fucking work out. I’m working for my happily ever after – I make sacrifices. You think I don’t want to sleep eight hours a day or kickback and watch TV? Hell, I’m twenty two, you think I don’t want to go out and party with everyone else?

    God, I didn’t even realize I had so much resentment bottled up. I was so fixated on the guilt I forgot about MYSELF. I hope you never have to know all the ugly things I’m feeling. I want to make this as quick and clean as possible. I hope we can be friends, just friends, one day.

    But I’m done. I’ll tell you soon, because I think I just told myself.

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