Note: Enjoy a depressing stream of consciousness.
Shut up and deal with it. That’s the message that’s coming in loud and clear despite the silence. I’m not worth reaching out to, I’m not worth replying to, I’m not worth even thinking about. How I think, how I feel, this is my problem and mine alone. You don’t want to hear about it. Out of mind, out of sight.
It will never be that easy for me. I think about you everyday, the days I make it through without crying could be perceived as a rare miracle but it’s much more likely I’m too numb and dazed.
I think the saddest thing is that “you” isn’t just you. It’s a list of people I loved… still love but I mean absolutely nothing to. How many people will read this and assume I’m just a bitch carrying out a targeted attack? Hell, how many people will read this? There’s no good answer. If it’s zero it’s because I mean nothing, if it’s several it’s full of spite; it’s better to know from a distance that I’m falling apart and you can keep your space, feeling like you dodged a bullet or even have a laugh. If you read this and you actually care you’ll talk to me. Please talk to me. That thought actually makes me laugh bitterly because you’ve already made as much perfectly clear.
Do I just have terrible luck? Did I just have narcissistic jerks in my life? Am I just as worthless as they all think I am? Are people in general just cold? Have I grown? Have I regressed?
All I know is I’m bitterly lonely and you’re not here.