Fuck You Very Much

You know, I see you. I hear you. I know you’re there. I can feel the shards of judgement stabbing into my pale skin. I know the hate pulsing out of your mind. Why do you hate me? Is it because I stopped responding to your text messages? Is it because I wouldn’t snap you back? Is it because I didn’t want to go and see a movie? Is it because I didn’t want to talk about what you want? Is it because I didn’t want to go for dinner? Is it all of the above?

Did you know, that when you asked me to hang out, I was so exhausted from my racing mind that I all I had energy to do was sit in silence? You asked, and I didn’t answer because I didn’t think that I was good enough to answer. I didn’t answer because you never asked how I was. You never asked if I was okay. I always asked if you were. You never picked up on the habits I was forming. It’s like I was turning into what you wanted to talk to.

I’m so fucking sick of it. I’m sick of feeling like I’m in trouble for wanting to stay home. Why do I need to give constant interaction and communication just to have a relationship with you. You’ve made life choices that I had to smile and nod at, but my life choices have to be criticized because I wasn’t with you when they happened. How is that fair? When I say I had a horrible day, you just finish it off with a “oh I’ve had days like that” and then that’s it. You don’t take a step back and realize how much I’m suffering.

You’re so incredibly toxic in my life. You poisoned me.

“We’ll get together when you’re better.” That’s where your stupidity really shines. There’s no getting better. There’s coping, and dealing with what you’ve been giving. I’ll never change, this is part of who I am. It’s not all of me, but it’s a part of me. You can either accept that, or leave my life. I can’t sit and wait for you to acknowledge me. It’s  pointless.

You’re not what I call a friend.