My beautiful, beautiful creature,
Here I am, curled up on a clunky sofa on that side that hurts, the one I sleep on, sit on, lean on, do way too much on... With Frankenstein on my lap. The one that you gave me. The one I hold so close to my heart now, listening to Chopin, pretending that I'm reading, and instead writing this.
You know today was not a good day.
He just turned around and sent me an air kiss. And I'm... Heartbroken. Absolutely heartbroken.
I'm shattered. Looking for faults in everything. How he walks. Gets in my way. Caresses my cheek for too short of a time. It's not fair. Nothing was wrong. Nothing IS wrong. Then why am I like this? Why is my brain fixating on every little detail, and my stupid, stupid heart aching as if I was dying?
I told you today that I wish I didn't exist. Not die, not kill myself. Just didn't exist.
Let me calm you down - this isn't unusual. I struggle to exist, to take space on the best of days. But today... Today, I feel, is the beginning of the end.
I have to snap the rubber band because I will be unable to leave.
We can't live like this, can we.
That's why I spewed out everything I've written up until this point all at once - just so I could write this. Now. Today. So you'd know how I feel, because we just don't have enough time to talk. So I could at least give you this, use this stupid, stupid outlet as the continuation of our conversations, to show you how I feel, how I struggle, how I suffer and hurt every fucking day.
Because I can't have you. I can't leave him. And I can't walk away from you.
It's honest to say that I want to hurt myself. I do. God, I haven't wanted it this bad for a very long time. I never did anything to myself and I won't now, but it doesn't make it any easier.
You angered me. You hurt me today. You pushed me. And you had the right to do all of those things.
It's not fair from me to expect you to read this - this, a reeking linguistic vomit of a foolish, foolish woman in love - and expect that things will only get better from here. Me admitting to what I feel, you knowing it is just making it worse. Just as I suspected, and did it, shared it with you anyway.
And now I'm angry at you. Not as much as I was, but still. Asking me what I want. Am I happy. What would happen, how would I feel if he walked away. What would happen if I fell pregnant, as if all of that was the end of this.
Maybe it would be the end of this. Maybe me having a child would end your feelings. And if that's the case then maybe my appeal is all that I thought - relatively young and fit play thing. I know this is not true. I pray that it would be, though. Then this would be easy to walk away from.
You're pushing me into a corner and I can't stop it. You're right to do so - you want to know, and understand, you want to have me, but by doing that you're knocking the ground from underneath my feet, you're removing the bricks that the things I know, my relationship stands on. You're making me doubt where there was no doubt. You're making me fear.
If you're unhappy in whatever you are now, you should leave. Not because I appeared, but because you're unhappy.
And you don't know me. You think you do, but I'm an iceberg, baby. I'm cold, depressed, breaking every minute of every day and somehow staying in one piece still. I'm messy. I'm cruel. I'm constantly afraid.
I don't think I can live up to the fantasy that you now have of me. Of this beautiful girl glittering in the sunlight, floating though air as perfect as if she was in some victorian music box. Gentle and loving as the first leaves of spring. Happy. Above all, happy.
God I want to punch myself.
I should've played dumb when you asked me, when you brought it all up. I should've laughed it off, just like I thought then. I should've listened to that inner voice that yelled at me to do exactly that.
I am angry at you because you're moving things that shouldn't be moved. You're digging up the part of me that I've killed. You're not listening to what I'm saying - that this can't be. That I'm saying no.
I'm saying no.
I'm saying no because I can't face any other choice. It's unrealistic. You would lose everything. I would lose everything.
You know what I think? Sometimes I fantasise about leaving. Just going away. Quitting my job without telling anyone, and one day just being gone. So gone you would have no way of reaching me. Leaving my partner, too. Just being on my absolute own.
When I was young I really wanted to be a nun - not because I believed in god. I just wanted my mom to stop calling me untrustworthy, calling me a slut way before I ever touched a man. Becase nuns are good people. Maybe, just maybe, I should do that now.
I am angry at you, but most of all, above all I'm angry at myself. That I'm allowing this to happen. That I can't walk away. That I can't disappear. Can't disappoint.
I'm telling you now: nothing can happen. Run. Walk the fuck away. Stay away from me.
I'm telling you now because I know I'll be unable to say this to your face.
I'll be incapable of pushing you away.
God, I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.