I was always scared of you and you know because I told you. Maybe too often but it was true. I had never dared to let anyone in because what if they found out how fucked I really am.
I know you think I’m crazy. I know because you told me. Maybe not often enough but when my seemingly splinter-proof brain bone scaffolding imploded once again, you couldn’t be there to sweep up the wreckage this time and I understand.
Your fear of being alone is strong. Stronger than the love, or tolerance, or pity, or whatever it was that kept you around through my mania, depression, anxiety, and general insanity so I understand why you are with him. Anything that isn’t me is better than the slow suicide of addiction that is me so the first thing that presented itself, well, you had to take it because you couldn’t take it.
I thought that since we had been through everything that a couple can go through, we had the world beat but I guess not. I quit trying and got stuck back in that loop of selfish despair and fear. How can I expect you to live like that? I can’t even define the fear let alone talk to you about it. I can’t talk to you about it so there is nothing you can do to comfort me. I was in no shape to attend to your needs. How frustrating that must have been for you.
I’m coming out of the tunnel now, I’ve killed all the robots. I looked around and you weren’t there. How long has it been? I know where you are and it is taking everything in me not to run and tell you I’m ok because we both know that’s a lie. We both know that I’ll never be ok. We both know you’d come home. I’m not going to do that to you this time.
I hope you aren’t thinking about me at all. I hope, if he can’t make you happy, at least he will let you rest.
Sometimes the shadows come alive. I hope you will remember this site and read this. Godspeed and I’ll meet you at the phone booth. I love you better than me. Finally.