I’ll begin this by saying that I’m exceptionally drunk, and maybe that’ll let you know that it’s me. I fucking hate myself for getting like this, for being this. For writing you words that are anything less than poetry, even if you aren’t reading this. You might be. You could be. There is always the off chance that you check this website to see if I’ve written some irrelevant blabber to you since last time. Chance is, I have. Chance is, you haven’t. But I have a feeling that you’ll know when this is for you. I just think that you’ll recognize me. The worst part is, I don’t think you care at all. I think that a part of you is still intrigued by what I might have to say at this point, but I’m not sure that you really care. I’m quite certain you don’t think about it. Or me.
I still think about you every day. Not in a sad way anymore, really. I don’t know how to explain it but everything just seems to relate to you in one way or another. It should make me sad, really, but I know how much damage I’ve done and I’ve trained myself to become numb to you. I think that I’ve finally reached the point in my life where I’m a normal human being who knows how to control her emotions and behave appropriately in society.
If I’d just recently met you, or if I’d gotten to know you when I had a straight mind, I would’ve dedicated my energy into making you feel comfortable around me. I don’t think I ever got the “full” you, and maybe nobody else ever has either. But I still, for whatever reason, fantasize about the day that I possibly could.
I messed up so much with you. I was terrible and selfish. It hasn’t been entirely too long, but I’m at the point where I look back on the terrible things that I did and I don’t really regret anything more, especially when it comes to you.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to face that blinking cursor and put my ever-lingering thoughts into text… it’s a feat… but if you’re reading this and you decide not to speak to me again.. I need you to know that you are one of the main reasons I continue to write. You are the only human being I’ve studied and simply considered art.
I wish that I’d gotten to know YOU better. And it’s my fault. I wish that I’d gotten to know you more deeply. I wish that I’d let go of the mundane worries that I allowed to tear us apart in my mind. I wish that, at that time, I’d have been more prepared to deal with the health problems I’m facing now. I wish that I’d taken into consideration the fact that you were depressed and continuously feeling less than positive emotions before I relied on you to be strong for me when I was dealing with my diagnosis.
So it’s morning now and I have a clear mind. Everything that I wrote above, while true, were words that just don’t matter anymore. And I’ve got to stop doing this. I’ve got to stop texting you while I’m drunk and I’ve got to stop waking up to a long e-mail typed out to you that, even in my drunken stupor, I wasn’t sure I had the guts to send. I’m sorry, because I know that you don’t really want to hear from me. Surely, I deserve that. But I’m not the monster I was anymore. I don’t let irrational emotions lead me to impulsive decisions anymore. I don’t act for myself, I act for the people around me. Still, I suppose it doesn’t matter and it never will. It’s actually a bit pathetic that I’m still typing. Even worse that my cursor will inevitably find the “Publish” button.
So, I’m sorry and I really hope that you’re happy wherever you are, with whatever you’re doing.