Something beautiful
I have so many things left to say to you. And there seems no manner by which I might say them. We don't spend time together. We don't talk. And yet, you're with me most days, here in my heart, a hidden conspirator in things I find funny or moving or when I need to make a decision and find my heart and when crossword puzzles have answers that leave me atwitter.
And I want to say them to you. But I doubt you'd read them and if you did, that you'd respond. So, why bother. I've tried and tried and tried to reach out to you with every method at my disposal from whimsy to love to temper tantrums to nonchalance to gifts to music and back again, again and again.
I'm going to see if I can write them here, as if we were together, secure in our cacoon of television and generally good food and sleepiness and sleeplessness and responsibilities and knowing and the antipation of love.
Safe.
As if safe is a thing I can imagine feeling right now. But I know it is possible so I'm going to try. Maybe. Mostly though, tonight, I feel numb.
I am not looking forward to anoter session of pool where I have to show up every week or we cannot make numbers. I've done it for two sessions solid, played more games than anyone (spent more money than anyone) and you've never so much as said thank you. I've done it showing up on weeks where I could barely get out of bed and knowing damned well I wasn't going to be able to control my emotions. I did it on weeks in which I had to get a hotel room because the drive home was too long.
So fuck you, first of all, for not appreciating how much I care about you - first and foremost - and about our team.
I show up when I can barely stand to be around you. Where all I want to do is cry or hit something or someone. I show up and try to pretend all is okay. It isn't. It hasn't been in a long time. Between your overwhelm and suicical tendancies and my blood making me physically and mentally incapacitated, neither of us have been okay. I don't know if despair or pride is in order. Maybe a little a both mingle with a healthy dose of hope and trust and love.
And I don't know what the answer to not making things as they were but allowing something even deeper to grow for it might be. Sure, absolutely, time is necessary. So is space, space to begin putting our worlds to right. But it damned sure isn't a complete lack of time together. Maybe it is for you. Maybe you aren't all that concerned if we connect again. It doesn't feel as if you are. And if that's the case, it isn't fair for me to continue showing up on Monday nights. Nor is it fair that you've changed your mind and I'm the one who will pay the cost.
So fuck you, again, if that's the case.
And maybe you do want me around. Maybe you care for me as I care for you. I'm finding itincreasingly difficult to believe so.
I'm trying to save my damned life. I need you to help me get there. You cannot imagine the damage you've wrought. I cannot accept you don't want to help make it better. I cannot stand to think that of you.
And if you don't, fuck you.
It is unrealistic to think this is resolved by Monday. I'm going to have to make a decision about next session knowing the cost, either way. And none of the above is answer.
That's the best I've got. My soul is weary and refuses to drag me down a rabbit hole tonght. For that, I am thankful.
**
And I am angry. It feels like you drew forth every innocent, whole-hearted goodness in me and batted it about as if my heart were an eight ball to play hide and seek against an opponent. It feels like I have no purpose to exist in this world, as if nothing matters, as if I do not matter.
And I hate you for it.