woodsy rant.
it’ll be easier when i’m gone, i know that. but that hope doesn’t make it any easier to breathe right now. i just don’t understand this game. strange, because i know i’m playing it, too. it’s like i’m perpetually compelled to pretend that i can’t feel, and i’ve gotten so good at it that sometimes that numb is an actual reality. and i know i’m taking away from the healing process this way, i’m just not sure what else i could be doing instead. i have no other option. not to mention another two years of my life down the proverbial fucking drain. nothing to show for it except what i’ve become, or what i haven’t become because i forgot about me. i’m probably not even going to make it out of this with a lasting friendship.
WHY DO I DO THIS?! HOW DID I LET THIS HAPPEN?! WHY THE FUCK DOES HE EVEN MATTER?! the answers are irrelevant. pointless to ponder, and yet, i wonder. i’m amazing. sure, i’m a little neurotic, i have a few choice obsessive compulsive behaviors that i’m not exactly proud of, and i cry when I’m frustrated or pissed, but i’m a good person. gah, all i can hear is “you’re a good girl, don’t change,” over and over again in my head, and it makes me so angry. why the fuck would i? i’m smart, i’d give you the last of anything if you really wanted it, i’d never intentionally hurt anyone without doing more damage to myself, and i’m good at loving. i was really good at loving him. some days, it was all i had, when everything else was falling to shit, i still had that. it wasn’t work. it came easy, and it was perpetual. it still comes easy. i resent that. i forget that i shouldn’t touch him, that i shouldn’t want to touch him, but i slip up - a loose strand of hair escapes his ear, and i’m quick to push it back. and then i want to immediately cut off my fucking hand and rip out all the tingly nerve endings in my body that received pleasure from that stupid decision.
i have contemplated cutting off my hands more times than i can count in the past two weeks.
