I have written a million times about you and I will write one more time now because while it makes no difference to you, I really need to do this to feel myself again. Sometimes the world isn’t kind and it tries to put words into my mouth and labels onto my forehead and it doesn’t help that I’m not always good at expressing myself in the spoken language. That’s why I love writing and I will keep writing to tell my stories, to find the like-minded people and the kind hearts that will be patient with me.
Johnny, I know we’re so terribly different and what happened between us was messy but I was glad and to this day I’m still glad you were real to me. You told me about how unhappy you were. You told me you wanted to find true love. You told me you thought of killing yourself often. And you tried. You tried jumping off the balcony but you were worried your head would get smashed and your brain would splash everywhere. You wanted to die prettily. You did research on cutting wrists and you demonstrated to me in detail which was the best way to do it so death would be guaranteed. I listened to you. I told you, hey I’ve been there too. I told you I would be there for you if you needed someone.
Johnny, I love the honesty with all my heart. I love that as humans we were able to be unfiltered to each other and I could talk to you about killing ourselves without having to say sorry or showing any pity. I wasn’t sorry. I didn’t pity you. I felt you. I’ve been to dark places before and I know how hard it is. I often wonder why I couldn’t be as chill as some people, why I carry so much pain with me… from yesterday, from previous lives, even the pain that doesn’t belong to me. Why at times I could be so intense, so aggressive, so defensive, so irrational, so emotional, so crazy even. But then I think it’s just part of me being human, being me in all degrees even though some of those degrees might put people off. And it should be okay. I should be okay with it. Because of it, I felt you. I feel so many other lives.
Johnny, though, I’m tired of feeling like there’s something wrong with me, of explaining myself, of trying to seek approval from the people who have no intention to see me kindly at all. I’m sick of trying so fucking hard to be seen. I just can’t do it anymore. I’m not perfect. I’m terribly flawed. I can be a mess. I’m not for everyone. And I accept it. I accept that at times I’m still so bad at standing up for myself and walking away when my intuition screams at me I should. I’m 22 now and I can’t keep making the same mistakes again and again, especially a bloody old one that I was aware of within the first 30 seconds, that my body had alarmed me until I numbed it with Oxytocin. I admit now I made that mistake because it was easy, because I was weak, because I had no clue what love was. I should’ve known better. I should’ve done better.
But Johnny, one amazing thing I’ve learned from that same mistake I made with you is that, as we’re out of each other’s life, I don’t have to care what you, or people like you, think of me at all. Throw at me your shitty opinions — I’m still wholly me with all the good and bad I never intend to hide. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to paint myself as a victim. Maybe your shitty opinions had a point after all. Maybe I was being difficult and tactless and tasteless for all sorts of reasons. Nevertheless, I’m proud that I held myself up to my own values: I was genuine, I was generous, I was patient, I was kind even when you, or people like you, didn’t even spare me any courtesy. It’s okay. I have no regret. I know I’m an emotional person. I listen to my emotions. I act on my emotions. I take responsibility for the consequences. I let me be. And I learn. I’ll get stronger. This is, after all, what’s best about me: I never give up on myself.
What a big deal, right. I don’t know Johnny. Life goes on. I’m sure in no time this won’t even be a thing anymore, just like right now I’m using you to talk about someone else while having absolutely zero feelings for you. If I could survive you, I could survive anything. If I could survive all the people before and after you, I could survive anything — I know. Sometimes life is just unbearably too much and it doesn’t make sense. Well, fuck no, I don’t even make sense. I’m in the bathtub crying out loud and I think to myself no one will ever be able to understand me and get down here with me. But there’s still a voice that tells me, no, I need to be alright on my own first. Then I walk out and smile. I look forward to the me in 5, 10 years when I have more and become more. I can’t wait to laugh at those people who want me because I have more and become more.
Right now, I’m here, raw and unfiltered, desperately trying to be seen, as always. I will remember who’s by my side. I will remember who sees the good in me, who believes in me, who accepts me and loves me even when I have nothing.