a letter.

[flamboyant]

i know i shouldn't care so much, and it shouldn't hurt as much, but it does. and worst of all, i don't think you even realise you're doing it. i wish i could be flippant and just not give a shit, but that's not me. i don't know how to turn it off. i'm left feeling like no one really cares and it just makes me think, "well, why bother? why waste your energy?" i hardly ever feel respected, and i always feel like the stupid one, the looked-down-upon one, the inferior one. and i know i shouldn't let it get to me, and i shouldn't accept people making me feel that way, but i'm a glutton for anything that makes me feel as shit as i think i am. we accept the love, we think we deserve, right? one day i'll learn to love myself and stop seeking people's acceptance and we won't be friends. because i won't stand for it. i'm underappreciated and completely disposable. and right now, that's all i'm worth because i've got low self-esteem, body issues, an inability to trust and a broken down heart that's forgotten how to be vulnerable. who wants that in a friend anyway? it's the kind of thing that'd drive you to drink, really. but i'll try not to, because i feel better about myself when i don't and maybe one of these days, i'll muster the courage to say, "fuck you" and never look back and i'll walk away from this friendship, it's that's what you can call it, and i'll stop feeling sad because you won't have that hold over me, because i'll know and believe with every fibre of my being that i am better than you. and that i have always been better than you; that i have more soul than you ever will have. and i won't beg that you hurt as much as you made me hurt, because i'll be better than that. i'll take the high road because i'm shiny and new and i don't need to wish you pain, because i don't need to make myself feel better.

but until that day, i long for you to hurt. to fucking hurt. to make me feel the things you made me feel. because you deserve it more than anyone i've ever met, more than anyone i've ever known. where's your heart? still, i'd wait on you hand and foot to please you, to make me feel like i'm worthy of the time you never give me. i'll perpetuate the abuse and you'll stomp on every shred of confidence i have until you've sapped it all out of me. i'll cycle between believing i'm useless, worthless and you're the best i ever had, to being angry and murderous and bitter, but in the end, i'll want to run right on back. because that's just our dynamic, right? i'm the carer, you're the cared for. it's always about you; it's always been about you.

and no, this isn't about them. it's about you.