A Piece of Strong Emotion

I’m trying to tell you how much what you did means, I don’t know how. I don’t know how to express my gratitude. I feel it is impossible to explain it, and I somehow feel that telling you how much it means will be a “return favor” a thank-you that somehow repays you full. A “thank-you” doesn’t seem enough but maybe, just maybe, trying to make you understand this feeling, these thoughts– this utter disbelief at something I thought was unreachable and unattainable will qualify as a “thank-you,” will satisfy my longing to get this across to you, will, I don’t know, spark a response out of you? I try to tell you how amazing you are. How much I look up to you, how much you’ve done, how I admire you, how much you mean, how you are somehow outrageously great in my eyes. I try to tell you as if you will give me your seal of approval. I try– that’s all I can do, try. I feel like I am failing– never succeeding but constantly trying and failing. You have said nothing. Given a small nod of the head that I see to often to be satisfied by, but haven’t said a word. I have spilled so much out to you and you just sit, listen, absorb, and throw your quotes and philosophy at me as if that is what I want to hear, as if it will solve everything, as if that is what I need. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that advice. I have taken heed and acknowledged how right you are, how wise you are, the amount of knowledge you hold. And it helped, in the moment, at the time. I have become even more of an adult, I have become a better person and I have learned so much, but I am not satisfied. There comes a time when quotes, philosophy and advice simply stop providing comfort and instead instill anger. There comes a time when you have to stop saying them, when you have to stop being the stronger, better, and wiser person. You have to stop when the advice starts to belittle the recipient. There comes a time when need to make yourself equal and let out what is inside you, when you need to express your thoughts and feelings. If not to make you feel better, then do it so the other person does. It will show that they aren’t the only ones who have been stuck thinking about this, who have been affected, they need to know that they aren’t alone. I have taken every extra opportunity to do my best to help you. Small things but you don’t recognize that I am doing this because I feel like I owe you. I go the extra mile as if that will do something. Nothing will ever be enough. I ask you what I could possibly do and you tell me to live the happiest life I can and that will be payment for you? That is NOT for you– that’s for me. The one chance you have to ask something of me, the chance you get to make me feel needed, and you don’t take it. You only asked this of me because of what I did, because you think I need it, because you won’t have to put up with this again, because what you did was simply a legal obligation, because you think you know what I need, or why I did what I did, because you think you understand, because you think that you know. . . . . . . because you think I don’t already have a happy life. Peaks and valley’s my friend, I was in a valley and you showed me that. Part of me has to say thank you for making such a request, for wanting me to have that. Part of me says, “Wow, somebody cares,” but then I feel like you pity me, you feel sorry. You feel superior to me because I struggled so badly. You don’t think that I could possibly do something similar, like helping somebody up, because you have seen me at my worst. I’m just a weakling that stepped in front of you. I said that I have tried and failed, but maybe it isn’t that I have failed. Maybe it’s just that you haven’t informed me of my success. I don’t have a clue what you are thinking and I want to know. I want you to talk, to ask questions, to be interested. I want you to open up to me, turn to me and tell me what is going on in your head. I almost want you to struggle just so I can help. Of course you wouldn’t let me help, or wouldn’t recognize that I could, I probably wouldn’t have a clue that you were struggling because you don’t say anything. I want to know what you were thinking and feeling. Then I want to stop feeling so damn inferior to you. I want to know what you think of me, and I want to know why you think those things of me. I want you to wonder why I cut myself, nobody seems to really care. I want you to ask me because I think it is important. I know you don’t know because I haven’t really told anyone, at least not the whole reason. I don’t want to come to you with this because it would be rude to ask you for anything more than what you have already done. I don’t know why you don’t talk. I don’t understand. You said I could always come talk to you, that your door was always open, but it’s not. When I come to talk to you I don’t want to be the only one talking. I don’t want to come talk to you just so you can listen and nod your head, give me advice– some quote– and then tell me to forget everything– to start fresh. That was in my plan anyways, that was part of why I cut myself in the first place. I’m not completely helpless you know, and yes, I do appreciate the advice but why won’t you just talk? What is holding you back? Is the thought even crossing your mind? No, I don’t see how it could. You obviously don’t care. What you did was a legal obligation as you so quietly reminded me. I have trouble believing you did it because you had to, you talked to me first. You didn’t just go tell someone and never mention it to me. Why? I want to know. I can’t say it is because you care because you have done nothing that proves that to me, except maybe the fact that you did talk to me first but that really isn’t enough. You didn’t know what to do at first, you didn’t know how to comfort me, and I knew but I said nothing and did nothing to help you out because I was so wrapped up in my fear. You didn’t even ask me why and that was what I needed more than anything. But you probably thought you knew or that “wasn’t your job” so you didn’t even think about it. You tried to talk about everything but the subject at hand– because you didn’t know how? Because you didn’t want to? You didn’t think it was the time or place. You didn’t ask me though. I tried to “keep it short.” to give you one word answers and act like I wasn’t interested or just didn’t want to talk at all, but you were finally talking with me– finally telling me things about yourself. I had practically accomplished what I wanted to by cutting myself– somebody was taking time to speak with me, they were initiating the conversation, asking questions like they were actually interested, they were caring, and for once, I wasn’t doing all the work by asking questions and talking– somebody else was. They were trying to get me to talk, for once they wanted to talk. And it felt good, even if they were only doing it because they were afraid of the silence. Of course I now know that it was all an act, you were putting up a facade, tricking me so the process would go as smoothly as possible for you– avoiding a crowded hallway– how clever. I wanted to go down that hallway, that’s why I started to turn. I wanted to see my “friends”– to show the world that yes, I do struggle. That is all I wanted and that wouldn’t have worked for you would it? You would’ve looked bad escorting me down the hallway while I was crying, well we can’t have that happen now can we? Don’t you get it? People would have finally asked me if I was okay– if I needed them. They would have finally thought about me, worried even. Maybe they would have actually cared. Now I have to walk around with this secret like it’s a shadow because I don’t know how to bring this up in a conversation. You shut the one window I had to do that. I know that some people would only want to know because it is oh so dramatic, but I would have kept them guessing and only would have told the people who asked me seriously and sincerely about it later. But you see, I was so in love with you, I had been yearning so much, so badly, for you– for anyone– to be focused solely on me, that I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to give up my one and only chance. I wished that moment could have lasted for ever. That walk was what I had always wanted but it didn’t last did it? It was all fake. I can’t believe that I thought you, or anyone, would care for more than a day if I cut myself. That you would want to talk because you realized there was something to talk about, when you realized there was a reason. You just did what you do when somebody is having a bad day. You are kind to them simply because life isn’t what it should be. But when that day ends you go back to treating them same as you used to, not taking time to speak with them and not treating them with that much more respect. You simply pity talk, feel sorry for them, the whole fiasco. You do it so you can feel good about yourself, so that you don’t look like the bad guy. What about me? I know that you are completely oblivious to all of this, you know none of it, and probably never will. It’s too late– you’ve already forgotten, and so soon? I have been so wrapped up in this spell of yours– this little leading on– I have been blinded into thinking you were the person to go to, to talk to, that you were the person I wanted to be like. Even though I would leave you disappointed I kept coming back to talk. I was never satisfied but didn’t– or couldn’t realize it. I was trying so hard to keep you on your horse, to keep your halo glowing. I didn’t want yet another person who I thought was great to fail. I was trying so hard to see only the good, and I did. Even when I saw quite possibly one of your worst qualities I still wanted to believe that it wasn’t true, I still tried to come to you to talk. You are unaware of all of this and but don’t make it possible for me to open the door for you. I can’t be entirely mad at you and I know I have created illusions for myself but that’s all because of a mis-communication(like all problems)– or in this case, the lack of communication. How will I know anything if you don’t talk? Why don’t you talk? Why do I desire a greater relationship with you? I don’t know why. Like in the movies, “I don’t know what she sees in him.” I have spent, wasted, so much time on you, so much time thinking about this. So much time trying to get your attention- trying to get anyone’s attention– and only to find out it was a complete waste. At first I wanted nothing more than to say thank you and give you a hug– be able to cry– now I wish that you didn’t exist. I tried to put into words how I felt. I looked towards music (a great solver of dilemmas), What song could express how I felt? There weren’t any, just a ton of one-liners. I was going to try and put them all together, but then I began to notice that you didn’t care. Still I tried to figure out just how I was going to tell you thank you. I wrote down two pages of things to say. Reasons for my overwhelming gratitude, reasons for my regret, things I was sorry for and questions I had. I practiced, rehearsed everything I was going to say. I tried to figure out what you would say, your reactions so I would know what to say next, but I couldn’t and now I know why. It’s because there wouldn’t have been one. You would’ve just nod your head, act concerned, or like you were listening, then throw some more quotes at me. You would wait for something to happen that would interrupt this and then, if you could, you would give me an excuse and tell me to, “come back later.” Come back later so I can what? Try to talk to you while you pretend you want me to? When I finally decided to ask you questions, as hard as it was, you just gave me answers that didn’t really tell me much. You spoke and answered like you were on the stand. Or like it would be inappropriate for you to elaborate even the slightest bit on your thoughts. Then you told me to forget. Just put this all behind me, forget everything and start fresh. Forget? I’m sorry, forget? How do you forget something that feels unresolved? Something that is unresolved? Forgetting had nothing to do with it. You just wanted to be done with it even if I wasn’t, you wanted me to stop talking to you, but not because it was “too painful” or anything like that, you simply don’t care. I have become an annoyance haven’t I? Well let me step out of the way! My feet will never come near your royally red carpet again! What could I have possibly been thinking? I am unsatisfied, distracted, hurt, and confused. How can I still strive for more to come out of the apparent nothing between us? How is it that I can be mad at everyone else for being part of the reason I cut myself but not you? Not you who showed me exactly why I was mad at everyone else. Not you who had me hanging around with false hope that you might talk. You didn’t come talk to me when you noticed something was up. You had to wait until there was a ‘legal obligation.’ You had to wait until something “drastic” happened. (Boy does history repeat itself. Wait for us to be bombed and then do something. Wait until a bunch of people die of bad food before you give the meat packing industry laws. Wait until 106 young girls die, some jumping to their death, before you make working conditions safer for your citizens. Wait until a girl resorts to cutting herself because she doesn’t know what else to do, then say something.) I thought you would care and I was wrong. I was disappointed when you didn’t notice, of all people I thought you would be the one. I suppose if I hadn’t written that paper then you wouldn’t have. It’s a sad set of affairs. You are so unresponsive. You’re not in a coma, you’re not brain dead, but you might as well be. Not much would change. I want you out of my life. I don’t want to care so much about everything related to you but I do and I don’t know how to stop. Even after seeing your biggest fault, that one that hurts me the most, and I still can’t stop. I wish there was a way to show myself that you aren’t. That you don’t exist. I wish I could shut you out, I’m just not sure that there is a way. What’s weird is that it’s almost as if I like you so much that I hate you, in a way. I regret so much of what I wrote to you in letters. A lot of it is no longer true. My need for attention created a haze around me that made everything I said true. It blurred my vision. You seemed wonderful when I was disillusioned. Funny how that works out. Funny how people can appear and how love can become hate. It’s funny how people perceive life. I used to see your eyes as a comforting, intriguing, ice blue. Now I see an icy, empty blue. It’s like screaming at the top of your lungs to the ocean. It’s blue and can seem so wonderful but it’s not listening, and it’s not going to do anything to help you. It doesn’t care and wouldn’t notice if you got lost in it. It could be the blue of the ocean when you look up and see the light shine through the water as the ocean swallows you, as you drown. But we all know that eventually it becomes pitch black and things lurk around, things you can’t see, that are ready to attack, mercilessly. We all know that it eventually becomes so dark you can’t see anything, not even yourself. And you start o imagine things, you think that you can see what is there, but you really can’t and you don’t know that. Then the pressure crushes you, and you fight even though it won’t do anything. You see, we all know that it eventually kills you. And sometimes that could be for the better. Here’s to forgetting. . . . . .you.