I messaged you last night to ask you to leave me alone. And you didn’t reply so I can only assume it got through to you.
I know that I agreed we should keep talking. I wanted you close to me in any way possible, because for two and a half years there hadn’t been a day of silence between us and I didn’t know how to live anymore. Our first post break up conversation was so soothing for my soul. And it made me believe that it was really over. So much so that I fucked someone else, hooked up with another and had lunch with another still.
Those days and experiences made me feel alive and desirable, all the things you stripped me of on January the 4th. But the come down was brutal and I rapid cycled through emotions so viciously that I opened my DBT notes to work out how to care for myself most effectively. I haven’t done that in months. These men weren’t you and when the attention I craved and received faded away I pined and grieved for the comfort of what was between us. I wanted to contact you again, but I don’t get to do that anymore and you didn’t seem at all pleased to hear from me the first time. I cried as hard as I did the day you left me and was shamed into blocking you on my socials (Facebook excluded).
I am a masochist at heart and check on your Facebook now and then (I unfollowed you the day after you left, a move that was apparently all show). The other day I was greeted with a status you’d been tagged in by the girl you wanted more than me in the end. The one who said some of the nastiest things you can say about a mentally ill person. The one who’s words are branded to my mind harder and hotter than anything – loving or spiteful – you have ever said to me. The one you called ‘hot’ long after you stopped acknowledging my attractiveness. The one who declared I’d ‘never help [my]self’ until you left me.
She invalidated all the work I did on myself to be a better person. The borderline personality diagnosis was challenging for me, and often still is because I always stop and consider which parts are me and which parts are the disorder and even which parts are permanently a mix of the two. I worked so hard to be discharged from the care of a psychiatrist. I took my meds, kept every appointment and did six real (and difficult) months of group therapy. Especially when I didn’t want to. You used to tell me that you were proud of me and I wish that was what I would remember, but you like the girl who believes I’m a sick and crazy person more than me now.
You never defended me when she attacked me. I’ll never forget that.
Reading that status sent me sky high. I needed to see it because I didn’t want to believe that you were a low key arsehole – it turns out you’re a high key arsehole. You’re keeping me around to lead me on and in case you need a fix from the person who is still (shamefully) wrapped around your little finger. That status demented me for a full day and one night. I had such a disgusting dream that I woke up angry and I never recall dreams. And then you had the gall to text me ‘Hey.’
I messaged you back eventually and it was a stupid conversation filled with stupid games that I don’t understand the point of. I am incredulous that you still haven’t told your parents that you’ve left me. Your cowardice seems to know no bounds. But above all else I was genuinely surprised to hear from you and you said that you ‘meant it’ about keeping in touch and that ‘two years shouldn’t just end’.
So I casually replied ‘you still low key want me, hey’.
And just like that you were gone again. And I had another fucking terrible sleep and my head’s been demented and busy again. So I followed up with you the following night just to say a few things. To talk about that status and how the disrespect was too fucking much and that I wasn’t playing this game anymore where you stalk me online and reach out to me just to remind me that you might be interested in me still.
The hopeful part of me, that part of me that wants the sweet boy who used to text me on the day we first met to remind me and the passionate boy who never used to be able to keep his hands of me back, wanted you to reply and chase me. To apologise, say something. The rest of me is pleased you didn’t.
Because I deserve so much more than to be with someone who always put me last.