i remember when i told you that if you didn’t hear from me at least once a month, i was probably dead.
i remember when i felt as if you would care to know i was alive and not dead.
less than a month and how things have changed. only four days shy, of course, but it may as well be lifetimes.
i said i never knew you found me so disposable, and i wish i had never found out.
as usual, you said nothing.
i suppose that’s kind of what disposable means, isn’t it? you don’t walk back to talk to the wadded up napkin you left in the gutter, do you?
i write because i don’t really believe it. or i don’t want to believe it. i still can’t decide and maybe there’s no difference. but i write because i can’t believe it. part of me is screaming in the corner of the attic’ all defiance and anger and insisting that this just isn’t something you could do to me. not something you would do to me. not you. not after knowing what you know.
the rest of me, all solemn faces, they stand ’round me there, a circle, backs facing out and hiding me away from the rest of the world so no one else can see.
the part of me that is screaming wants any of the girls to agree. none will. they’ve seen it too many times. i can’t scream anymore. just sit and rock and hug myself and wish it didn’t hurt so bad. rock until i can find the way to get the walls back up. they’ll help me rebuild of course. we’re good at that.
i’m never letting anyone else in again. never. i can’t take this anymore. you were my last, best hope. of course you never knew. i couldn’t tell you. you’d not have believed me anyway. you always thought i was crazy. mental. proper. it never occurred to you that while my semantics were different and i had odd ways of handling things, i was proud for not cracking, proud for not becoming some truly shattered thing that couldn’t function.
i remember when i finally figured out you really thought i was unbalanced. actually, i remember when i figured out you never intended to let me be you friend. i’m not sure which hurt more. both pale in comparison to this, now. not that you care, of course.
i remember you talking about that woman. the one who sent you underwear. i sit here now and i wonder why it was so fun for you to ask her for things that would show her care when you knew you had nothing to give her but torment and impossible dreams.
i wonder if it was ‘entertaining’ for you. did it make you feel good to know someone hurt for you. sweet stars above, you had better feel such thanks that i am not one to toy with others like that…. that i am not one to be eager to dish out hurt to those who hurt me.
the cruelest thing you could possibly do is go binary. you know it. you knew it. and you did it.
even now, knowing i cannot possibly be your god damn corner barbie, i’m still talking. even in the face of knowing i should be the one going binary, i’m still fucking talking. did you even notice that for all my talking, talking was all i did? of course not.
you promised me this would be the one thing you would never do to me.
you did it the first chance you got. the minute that it wasn’t ‘fun’ and ‘easy’ and ‘entertaining’ for you anymore.
why do i still disbelieve it? the only reason i can come up with ought to make you laugh….
i believed in you.
yeah, i know, must be crazy, right? proper mental.