Goodbye

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You tainted my body. Literally in all ways. Through my blood and through my soul.

It was five years ago, when it started. And it’s still haunting me now. For five years I’ve been walking around suppressing emotions and feelings I didn’t even know I had. I could not realise them then, because I did not have time. I had already left you, and home, and everything; I was on plane two days after I knew what you had done to me. Straight to another world where I didn’t have to look back at you, or look deep into me. Avoid it, suppress it, ignore it.

I was stubborn. Too stubborn to admit I was hurt. ‘I am not weak’, ‘I will strive forward’, ‘this will not ruin me’. I can see now that it ruined me. Not listening to my body, mind, soul; that’s what ruined me. I should have listened then, and I should have told someone – anyone – how much I hurt.

Goodbye.

Why We Can’t ‘Do Dinner’

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I’m sorry we can’t have dinner. No, it’s nothing you have done. You don’t see what I see anymore. Well, I don’t see what you see. I see clearer now and what I see in that world is nothingness.

We can’t have dinner because I am more disciplined with my time. We can’t have dinner because you do drugs. We can’t have dinner because you were there when I was not me, and you represent everything in that world. We can’t have dinner because you’re leaving – that’s not an excuse to meet up and eat food and talk about how well I’m doing at making a change and how much you’re looking forward to going home. I already know that, so why do we need to meet and confirm it? I know you’re going to ask me about everything too; everyone is asking, wondering, what the hell I am playing at? You’re worried and that’s nice, but don’t be. Worry about yourself. We can’t have dinner because if we did I wouldn’t be changing. You would be sucking me back into the meaningless that I am trying to escape. We can’t have dinner because I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to see the version of you that smiles at me when I arrive and asks me if I had a good day. Those things are normal, I know. But it’s the weight behind it that isn’t. Why don’t you look at me as if I can rely on you, lean on you, be supported by you. It sounds irrational but it’s only reflective of how little you know and can handle. Why can’t you write me an email? Why can’t you tell me you’re hurting because your boyfriend isn’t good enough but you hurt because you wanted him. Why can’t you ask me how counselling is going?

Yes, you asked me for a walk instead. That’s better than dinner, you’re correct. But I still don’t have time. I still don’t have time for you if you can’t tell me something real. Tell me something real, I beg you. I know you’re good inside, I know you are. I know you’re just as sensitive as I am, just as lost as I was, just trying to get by. I know because you helped me get there. You helped me lose myself and at the time it was what I wanted, how I coped, but I can’t do it anymore. Ask me something real so that I can let you back in. I know you’re good and I wish you well. But please see someone. Please see someone so you can understand why you’re doing all these things, and so someday we can be friends again. I love you, but farewell.