おかえり

11/14/13 12:13 AM

Hi.

I find this whole session of revisiting the past and treating it like it was the present immensely hurtful. I'll be daring enough to say that maybe I'm the one hurting more. And possibly more than you could ever do.

Remember that night I first found out about what was going on? That was the night I cried my heart out as I drank in Canaan and lighted up god knows how many cigarettes in Midnight Owl. I really appreciated you being there. But what I realise now is that that was not what I needed. What I needed was someone who would listen to what I have to say. Someone who was willing to hear what I have to say about what happened and understand that I'm also being wronged. Almost seven months in, with many of our fights still being about this, and you still don't get it. You tell me how you'll never forgive her.

But maybe the one you could never forgive is actually me.

The way you said that puts me simply as the one to blame: just like how everyone else saw it as. None of this would have happened if I just kept my mouth shut and just did my already delayed closes, no? And it hurts having to hear this from you. Because I was hoping that maybe you would be the one who would also try to hear and understand (even if you don't agree with) what I have to say.

It's honestly draining me out. This whole cycle of us talking about this thing, with my only oasis in our conversations being the part where I find that brief validation that maybe you do love me. Everything else: I force to become a blur.

Sometimes I wonder if all this was really just born out of your desire for that very power that certain girl wanted, too. Maybe I was too trusting. Maybe some of this is real, just not the parts I wish were. Maybe I'm just thinking too much. Maybe you do love me, and I'm just the one finding all the reasons for you not to continue doing so.

I haven't smoked that much in 6 months. While I tell people I've quit, I still turn to a stick or two (max) whenever the days get too tough and they still never fail to clear up my mind and help me get through another round of these depression attacks. It's my perfect excuse to have a reason to hate the way I am; a perfect opportunity to get mad at how pathetic I am for relying on little sticks of nicotine to solve my problems.

It is also during these moments of being so horrible that I get people to care. People usually don't, after all. I've been so used to understanding the situation of everyone around me that I forget to remind them to understand me, too.

And so I temporarily get by.

I've also realised that drinking has given me an excuse to air out all of the pent up frustration.

It has helped us clear out a lot of things for this relationship, no? After all, if I haven't drank a bottle of vodka that one night I drunkenly decided to kiss you, I don't think you wouldn't have pursued me anymore. Our first fight also ended as I—aided with the magic that is a few bottles of beer—spilled my entire heart out as I spoke of how difficult it is for me still to find a place in your life. Thank you for caring enough to listen and to care about what I had to say. And thank you so much for understanding and being sorry. That was all I needed for I have rarely had people tell me those words: "I'm sorry."

Really, thank you for making it feel like this is worth the risk. And I hope that in finally breaking the silence, I'll stop having a reason to turn to smoking.