I could never really pin point why I was so destroyed after you had left me. I was in a constant state of second guessing myself. Always thinking my hurt wasn't valid. That I crossed too many lines with you when I came forward and spoke about my illness. I spoke about you as well. I still speak of you. I am use to being attacked for saying it how it really is. You always sit there in denial. Saying that what I say isn't true. You claim to be a victim to something you had caused. If I had played on your vulnerabilities as much as you played on mine, I would sit there quietly if I was you. I would respect and let you express your pain. But as I said the pain I caused you wasn't crippling. You didn't let me in as deeply as I let you.
Last night I was trying to enjoy myself. Apart from the intense therapy sessions and the flashbacks occurring again, I think I was doing quite well considering. You have featured in my dreams for the past six months. Knowing how vain you are and the people that you surround yourself with, you would view this as an 'obsession'. I view it as an attachment you reassured me that was safe.
I was dancing. The warehouse was filled with all these colours and these beautiful people. I was intoxicated and escaping my reality. Then I stopped and I looked around. I felt the panic come. My friend grabbed me and saw what was about to happen. I started to cry. I started to hyperventilate and freak out. She took me outside while I tried to control my anger. I was wanting to hit things to calm myself down but I couldn't. I blamed you for my anger. The anger and hurt I have to sit on instead of being allowed to express it towards you. Being allowed to express without your friends telling me how to behave when they have no idea about the things I showed you and told you. To this day it makes me so frustrated. I just want you to get out of my memories and out of my head. I want the detachment you have towards me.
So it makes sense. You show someone your biggest wound. The one that makes you feel sick to the stomach. The one that makes you cry when you are alone. The one that makes you break down. The one that heightens your suicide ideation. You show them that. They reassure you that you are safe. To trust them. That they aren't going anywhere. That they will always be there. That they will always care. You look around for this person that told you this and they are no where to be seen.
Everyone wonders why you randomly have a burst of anger and sadness. When you feel flat and empty. I remember a time I cried to you because I felt so vulnerable and you told me it was okay. Yes it was okay to be vulnerable, but it wasn't okay for you to betray me the amount of times you did. It wasn't okay for you and your friends to belittle me when you rubbed more salt in my wounds. The wounds you were exposed to.
My friends? My friends contacted you in emergency situations. The ones where I was constantly hurting myself. You acted as if it was a choice of mine. You sat at home, safe in your bed, sleeping soundly. I however had blood dripping down my arms and a black out during a belt choking episode. But we must remember you are the victim. We have to feel sorry for you. If it was that bad I would just be in hospital. Or I would need an ambulance.
I still think about ending my life. It must be better then waking up every day with a reminder that I loved someone as much as I loved you who consistently hurt me. I bared my whole soul to you as I believed you were the right one to keep me safe. Now you pretend like I don't exist while you haunt me in my dreams. How I long to escape you.