ok

i feel like i have to write a letter. because right now and today i am feeling more sad than angry and that’s a different and softer place to write from. and maybe i will send it to you even.

i dont know how to ask “how could you do this to me” in a way that lets you hear the difference between how i mean it now and how i mean it when im angry. and that difference i think is something like, now, how could you do this to me when i thought you loved me, and then would be something like, how could you do this to me after everything i did for you. so how could you do this to me? i thought you loved me. i thought you loved me very much and held me close to you and cared whether i felt loved. when did that stop and why didnt you care? i cared. and i am still caring.

lua says she will wait until im ready to talk to her but you havent said anything. i think maybe you dont know how to and to be honest i do hold that against you a little bit. 

lua i can’t believe you would do this to me. i shared space with you for so long. i woke up when i heard changes in your breathing and i would do anything you asked me to. i was faithful to you like a dog. 

i miss you and i hate you and i never want to see you again and i wish none of this had ever happened

you were supposed to be in my life forever and was i ever supposed to be in yours? 

i look it in the face and see it, my anger, i see it and it is ugly and ripped apart and poisoning my edges i drip with it. my anger.

and i sit alone on a space of grass just outside, so that i can feel outside of it, away from it, i sit alone and think about saying to them in the hallway, i know we haven’t met, but i was their best friend before you. and for longer. and for better, and deeper. i know we haven’t met but i know more about them than you do and you will never be able to take that from me, not even with your stupidly dyed hair and the hiking shoes that you always wear and the way that you seem already to have access to the softest and most sacred parts of them that i took years to encounter- that i took years to bring out of them, to make them comfortable, i hope you are so happy to be reaping my benefits, i hope they leave you soon. i hope you sit alone.

because who gave you the right, really, to come in and take my place? i know it makes more sense, for it to be you than me, i know it makes more sense. you and your thoughts and your hobbies and your legal given name and the way they looked at your parents and said, you have a cool kid. they never said that to my parents.

i’ve been writing a song in my head that goes like this:

i hope when i die you say thanks to my mom but everything she did for you, she did because i asked her to

because i am good, because i was good to you, because i held you in a place of love in my heart that meant, yes, you will receive this, yes, you will receive this, of me and of mine, of all of mine, you will receive everything, i choose you, i hold you here, highly, in a place of love.

and i want to live alone in my room now without hearing you,

and i want living alone in my room now to be something that i do peacefully, quietly, that does not always feel so distinctly apart and separate from my other life that i led when i was loved, when i felt loved, when i felt securely held highly in a place of love, and where i no longer feel, and where i no longer truly think ever existed. 

i wish you both had never met me, and that i was someone different, who had never loved you. 

Something is very poisonous inside me right now, and I am looking at it, and it is telling me that I hate you. That I hate your laugh and your walk and the stupid way that you wear that bandana. I hate you for resenting something so much that you can’t separate it from me when I’m not even doing anything different. I hate you for being so okay, so surrounded by other people that love you. I hate you for taking the people that loved me and making them love you instead. I hate you for making that a choice. I hate you for not acknowledging that anything is wrong, or that anything is worse, and I hate you for acting so calm, because you are so in control, the way that you hate me for being in control, and the only thing that you can do about it is make me powerless. I hate that for you to feel secure you have to make me into nothing. 

And I think I hate you, too. Not in the same way, but almost worse. I hate you for watching it happen and not doing anything. I hate you for telling me it was my fault. I hate you for making excuses, and for choosing him over me. I hate you for thinking that things are fine, or that you aren’t a part of this, because you are. You are just as guilty. You are just as hated.

I don’t think I’ll be able to take it if you look at me with any kindness, or any pity. I only want you to look at me now with guilt. I want you to look at me and see that you’re hurting me and to feel bad for it. I want you to beg me to be myself again. I want you to care about me in a way that makes you hate yourself. I want you to cry on the floor of my room while I sit on the bed and look down at you. I want you to tiptoe past my door. I want you to never come out. I want you to never look at me. I want you to be afraid, not because you made me angry, but because you made me hurt. I want you to feel the loss of my love as if it ever meant anything to you.