24 ноември, 2014

no (easy) way out

The reason why I allowed myself to be so honest in the previous post is because I've been experiencing the same things for a while. For a whole week actually. And I feel sick of it, because I realise what I'm doing but I still can't help it. My throat still aches with sobs, my nails dig into my skin to try and anchor me to reality and I'm having a hard time believing i actually had that conversation last week. I feel like I'll get another hate message anytime now and I'll come back to find him calling me, as if I never ended it and reality as a whole is something I can't comprehend. I mean, I know what is real, but it doesn't feel real sometimes. It's the reading thing. 
Without a conscious intention I made sure I know where are you at all times. It's called stalking, I know, but it's just easy for me to check your shifts at work. The days go by and nothing happens. I don't want to be waiting, but I am and it never felt so bad. I find myself fighting back tears and wanting to escape my own thoughts. I don't wan to have any hope. I've lied enough times to be punished for it and not have you back. In fact, I do think having you back will be the best punishment, but it's something I want and I never get what I want without lying and manipulating for it. I actually remember having this bad feeling. Like things were off. I've been wanting to be in Sofia and to be living together and when it happened I was supposed to be happy, but it never felt quite right. Or it did at first, for a while before we got screwed up. 
You know, it's one thing to know you're completely and permanently fucked up and another to actually feel it. I felt it a week ago. And I've been feeling it ever since. The moment he held me and I whispered through tears: "You're still you?", knowing the answer myself. He was. He was his old self, the old self I fell for. And it was only then that I realised I wasn't still me. I was a shadow of whatever I once was. A bitter, cynical, sarcastic version of myself that couldn't even feel guilty about lying to the boy that cared about her because of the boy who didn't. I couldn't feel guilty the next day when I talked to him. I wanted to feel bad, I wanted to feel hurt but I didn't. I just gave up on him, because the previous night I have given up on me. On whatever hope I had to get over this. I won't. Not completely anyway. 
So hello my dark thoughts and old habits. At least we are old friends now and we have no trouble existing with each other. It sucks when the one thing that can truly fix you is the thing breaking what is left of you. It sucks that I gave up on the person who was okay with all of it. It sucks, because I also gave up on me. I want to scream and burn things and call you at 4 in the morning and tell you every curse word I know and then to pathetically beg for you to come. I want to do something, because I've never been one to wait for things to happen. But at this point doing something is only going to cost me and I have nothing else to give but what little sanity I have, so instead I will do my best to write and not do stupid things, avoid giving in to the dark thoughts (which are oh, so tempting) and also not involve any more people into this mess. Until I get sick of this to a point where I no longer care and my brain shuts mu emotions for good, the way I believed it had up until a week ago. Well, my choices will always be my prison. 

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