-Warning: dark content, not usual light-heartedness-
March 31, 2017
I don’t know if it was the rumors they started about me that put me through a state of depression that I couldn’t tell anyone about. Or if it was seeing you find another reason every day to tell me all that I’m feeling is wrong, useless, “dramatic;” don’t you think you could’ve been there for me instead? I don’t know if it was because of the people I grew up with around here. I don’t know if it was because you rejected everything I loved, telling me it was all a waste of time. I don’t know if it was the abuse you put me through. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I don’t feel comfortable telling you anything because whenever I tried being human with you, you never showed me human empathy and now I reject most everything.
I don’t know what I did wrong, when it happened, who started it, why it even started; just that it’s been going on for so impossibly long that its origins and intentions have become lost in the current.
You might think that I’m an ever-frustrated, grumpy pessimist, but in actuality, it’s just you. It’s literally just you. Like I said, I don’t know why it’s you, but it just is and I’ve accepted that as fact. I don’t like telling you my thoughts, I’ve given up on trying to make you understand where I’m coming from. We’re two very obviously different people. I feel more comfortable telling strangers or new acquaintances about my life and the things that change it, drastically or otherwise. You’re never the first person to know if something amazing happened in my life, if I even tell you. And don’t ask me why.
I couldn’t tell you because I don’t know.