Here’s where I get weird.
Today, i sat in bed with my boyfriend, and he was passing out after a long day, so i put a pillow on my knee where he could rest his head..
I started rubbing his back, because i have a love for running my fingers over him and attempting to work out whatever knots i may feel in his muscles… Like i always do…
And as i trickled my finger tips up and down between his shoulder blades, i felt my mind start to find its way into that dark corner where i push my thoughts i don’t know how to deal with…
I tried to hold myself back, but my boyfriend was asleep and I decided I’d let it happen…
It’s been over 2 years since you killed yourself, Brad. After being my friend for a year and taking care of me as I was an emotional wreck, drunken, with no self esteem. While I went through these past two years without you, only hearing that most people were happy you were gone because of the fucked up things you did, rather than taking a minute to remember the wonderful person you were BESIDES that, I only hurt. I only hate you a little bit, and that’s because you never even talked to me about it… You never let me return the favor, of telling you not to kill yourself…
I can’t say I hate you for what you did to anyone else, because that’s none of my business and I never want it to be.
I can’t say I hate you for what you did to me, because you only did everything I wanted… And everything I needed…
But I hate you for slitting your wrists. Did you even think of me? I wish I could have told you that I cared, at least once, before you left. I’m not upset with you for leaving, anymore. You are much better off (I HOPE, wherever you may be…), because there is so much hate in this world, and I can’t defend you as much as I wish I could.
You didn’t hurt me. But they don’t realize that. They don’t see that I would have attempted suicide many times if it weren’t for your voice, your comforting words through my phone… I might’ve even fucked myself up bad enough that I wouldn’t be here today, if not for you. But they don’t see that. They don’t listen to me, anyways.
I never went to therapy, even though I wanted to. I never got to talk to anyone about how I felt after you were gone. The closest I ever came to expressing my broken heart for you was every time I was black out drunk, and a total emotional wreck… That was almost every time I even drank liquor, though, so I finally decided to give that up this year.
But in the last month, I have felt more of myself than I could over the rest of these two years without you.
As I sat there, trying not to let noises come from me as I let the tears drip into the blanket I covered my vulnerable face with, I realized I finally found someone to take care of my emotions the way you used to (the way my drunken mind felt you used to, at the very least)… And I never had an ounce of hope that I would EVER heal from the way my heart was broken by your actions, until I realized that I’m already in the process of healing, and I owe it all to Bo.
i didn’t realize growing up meant dying inside but hey it’s whatever
Um, I’m paranoid to insanity that I’ll be left alone to drown in my years abruptly after doing or saying something stupid enough to make you give up on me,
But I am completely surprised with your reaction to every little thing I do.
I actually feel the appreciation.
This is new, and refreshing, and I’m glad I can let you in on my flaws of being paranoid and weird.
And I’m ecstatic with how you express your own weirdness. I am happy with you. Please be happy with me.
this is unbelievably important and no one really realizes it