PlutonianRooster
Member
- Dec 16, 2024
- 10
My ex left me when I got worse. They only loved the happy, funny, confident version of myself, that swept them off their feet and always had somewhere to take them. When I stopped being able to go outside as much or be as enthusiastic, and I couldn't simply be fixed by being endlessly distracted, they started pulling away. Eventually enough was enough and they left. I made them feel too tired, too hurt, too guilty. I will never forget the coldness in the last look they gave me. I will never forget the frustration in the voice that used to tell me how much they loved me, and that promised me I could open up and be vulnerable.
I never wanted them to fix me. I asked them to bear with me - to stick by my side through the rough parts, to help me and let me be a little selfish when I needed it, so I could be the person they saw in me. Just until I could work my way out of at least one of my traps - mental, financial, physical - and get the help they wanted me to get.
I loved them - even when they said they didn't even think about my problems (right after I confessed that I think of them first when I struggle to keep going), even when they called me difficult to love, even when they left when I needed them the most. I still love them. They were the only person I ever truly trusted. I can still only see a future if they're there. My only hope at a mere chance of wanting to live is that they'll come back, since the breakup is relatively fresh at about 3.5 months old. I'm spending my days waiting, and in the meantime, trying to learn how to not bleed my struggles out on anyone.
None of it is enough. Nothing is ever enough.
I thought we were only going through a rough patch, because they swore they wanted to put in the effort to make a future with me, and they promised to clearly talk with me first if the relationship was at risk. They never did; they just left.
They promised they cared, even as they left. Complete silence since we gave each other our belongings back. They wouldn't know if I died tonight.
My parents love their child. They don't love or even know me as a person; they love the role I fill, and the acceptable selection of my personality traits that I've cultivated in their presence. They would be devastated if I died - but only because of a status that was automatically hoisted on me. If I were anyone else, they would be equally devastated - more so, if I were a better child - by my passing.
They are incapable of 'helping' me without pushing a god I don't believe in onto me. They can't think past the religion and culture etched into every fold of their brains over decades.
It's been eight months since anybody other than my parents, my ex, or my housemates asking for rent has texted me first.
All my friends would do if I confessed my despair is give me generic responses, wax philosophical at me, or get me institutionalized. At the end of the day, none of them are thinking of me. They, too, know nothing of me besides what I've shown them to be a fun-enough person to be around.
I could go on if I had someone, anyone who loved me, saw me for who I am, and stayed by my side. I could soldier through the pain of my issues for that. It would be a weary road, and I wouldn't ever be truly content until I were free, but I could find a few good things in between the pain, and maybe even be glad that I chose to struggle.
I was so close to doing that with my ex. They left one week before I could drive back to college and be able to go through their mental health services. Just one week. Just seven days. Almost comical, for it to be ripped away while that close.
Now there's nobody.
I can't do it alone.
(Apologies for only posting essentially the same thing. I don't have any other way to cope anymore.)
I never wanted them to fix me. I asked them to bear with me - to stick by my side through the rough parts, to help me and let me be a little selfish when I needed it, so I could be the person they saw in me. Just until I could work my way out of at least one of my traps - mental, financial, physical - and get the help they wanted me to get.
I loved them - even when they said they didn't even think about my problems (right after I confessed that I think of them first when I struggle to keep going), even when they called me difficult to love, even when they left when I needed them the most. I still love them. They were the only person I ever truly trusted. I can still only see a future if they're there. My only hope at a mere chance of wanting to live is that they'll come back, since the breakup is relatively fresh at about 3.5 months old. I'm spending my days waiting, and in the meantime, trying to learn how to not bleed my struggles out on anyone.
None of it is enough. Nothing is ever enough.
I thought we were only going through a rough patch, because they swore they wanted to put in the effort to make a future with me, and they promised to clearly talk with me first if the relationship was at risk. They never did; they just left.
They promised they cared, even as they left. Complete silence since we gave each other our belongings back. They wouldn't know if I died tonight.
My parents love their child. They don't love or even know me as a person; they love the role I fill, and the acceptable selection of my personality traits that I've cultivated in their presence. They would be devastated if I died - but only because of a status that was automatically hoisted on me. If I were anyone else, they would be equally devastated - more so, if I were a better child - by my passing.
They are incapable of 'helping' me without pushing a god I don't believe in onto me. They can't think past the religion and culture etched into every fold of their brains over decades.
It's been eight months since anybody other than my parents, my ex, or my housemates asking for rent has texted me first.
All my friends would do if I confessed my despair is give me generic responses, wax philosophical at me, or get me institutionalized. At the end of the day, none of them are thinking of me. They, too, know nothing of me besides what I've shown them to be a fun-enough person to be around.
I could go on if I had someone, anyone who loved me, saw me for who I am, and stayed by my side. I could soldier through the pain of my issues for that. It would be a weary road, and I wouldn't ever be truly content until I were free, but I could find a few good things in between the pain, and maybe even be glad that I chose to struggle.
I was so close to doing that with my ex. They left one week before I could drive back to college and be able to go through their mental health services. Just one week. Just seven days. Almost comical, for it to be ripped away while that close.
Now there's nobody.
I can't do it alone.
(Apologies for only posting essentially the same thing. I don't have any other way to cope anymore.)
