The Letter

I’m writing this because I feel like it’s the only way I can effectively communicate my truth. Though you can’t hear my voice, your brain can listen. I feel like you’ve heard my voice a few times, but I don’t think your brain has. Or at least it’s ignoring it. Maybe I’m just bad at talking. Either way, I need to tell you that I’m hurting. I’m sick of ignoring that and pretending it’s not there, because it’s not going away. It’s unbearable.

Whether you know this or not, I need to tell you that this isn’t okay anymore.

I haven’t been okay in a while.

I hate to sound corny and deep because I don’t like people to know what goes on in the suppressed recesses of my mind, which is maybe why I think too much and write too much and analyse too much. And I probably am blowing this situation out of proportion by writing this, like chill the fuck out, Tina; but I need to be corny and I need to be dramatic and depressing because if I don’t say it as it is in my head than I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop this.

I love you.

I’ve never said that to anyone before.

I’ve been thinking about what you said. I can’t stop thinking about what you said. I know you know that I think too much, and maybe I do and I should just be open and cool with anything like you. I’d love to be. I wish I could be like that, God, I fucking wish it was that easy but I can’t. I’ve been trying for the last six months and I’ve never felt worse for ignoring how bad I’m actually feeling.

I want to say this before I delve into the reality of my situation. You are not to blame for this. The way I feel and the way I want things to be, I know, is completely different in your situation and that’s not your fault.

You are doing the right thing. You are not pretending you have feelings for me, or going out with me just so I feel good, because if that were the case, I’d feel 1000x worse. You’re sticking to how you feel, how you want things to be, you’re communicating that, and therefore, you’re doing that without hurting me. I appreciate that more than anything.

But I’m hurting myself.

Because these past 6 months of fucking around isn’t what I wanted. Again, overthinker problem 101, but I don’t feel good about it. I don’t think, hey, this really hot guy wants to fuck me, I’m hot af. I think, hey, here’s a boy who’s going to add your name to his list. That’s if he wants to include your name. No, actually, you’ll be a number. He’ll refer to you as ‘this girl’ when he tells stories about you; which he probably won’t anyway unless it’s a story to brag or laugh about. I think that my body is the only thing drawing you to me in that way. Because I can make people feel good physically even if it makes me feel like shit. And that doesn’t help, because it makes me dependent on my appearance. If a flaw breaks out, I’m worthless. This situation makes me feel worthless.

I know that’s not true.

But sometimes, even though I know the reality of a situation, I can’t help what I feel, even if it does sound ridiculous. Because you’re not the only person who’s said that I’m beautiful, that I’m perfect, that I’m funny and caring and attractive. You’re not the only one who’s said guys would be lucky to have me. Because, before you, five other boys said the exact same thing.

And now it means nothing to me.

Those words are meaningless because every boy I’ve been with is meaningless. And it’s awful that I’m beginning to interpret such words, such intimate moments that should be considered as the best things in the world, that make one feel happy and wanted and pretty and perfect, so meaningless.

It means nothing to me because every time stuff like this happens, I can’t help the bubble of hope, begging for ‘finally’ instead of ‘not again’. Those words you said mean nothing to me because they don’t mean what they should. If any boy would be lucky to have me, then why not you?

I know your circumstances are different. I know you have a different side in your situation that opposes this because you’ve been with girls that have made you feel like shit, and you’ve made them feel like shit. I know it’s not me. I’ve always accepted that biologically, you’re not attracted to me in that way. I’m okay with that. I understand that more than anything. There is not an ounce of hatred or heartbreak because of that - because your brain isn’t designed to see me in that way – it’s fucking nature and you can’t force change upon that. I’m not hurt because of that.

I’m hurt because I’m catching this illusion of what it could be like. That you could kiss me and feel me and look at me as if I am this beautiful, incredible person that you want to spend time with and you don’t feel this way about every girl you see. As if I am special to you in that way. It’s like you’re lighting my candle and letting it get hot enough for the wax to melt, and just as it gets soft, you quickly blow the flame out and thank me for my time and leave to go light some other girl’s candle.

It’s okay that you don’t want to leave your flame on my wick. It’s okay if you want to light multiple candles. It’s okay that you don’t want to watch it melt with me. It’s okay you don’t want to let it reach to the bottom or blow it out with me.

But it’s not okay that I’m repeatedly letting you leave me with a warm candle that’s so close to melting. Because though I know you’ll always blow it out, there’s this itch of hope I can’t kill no matter how much I try to wake up to the reality of this situation that maybe it will melt.

You told me you loved me yesterday.

And you’re right, it does hurt me.

Because I don’t believe you.

Maybe I’m wrong or old-fashioned and clueless, but I’ve always believed that’s kind of a huge, meaningful thing to say to someone. It’s not meaningless. You don’t say ‘I love you’ to someone, fuck around with them as a friend and then waltz home without a care in the world and wonder who the next chick you’ll fuck around with will be. You don’t say I love you and continue things as they have been for the past six months, because the past six months have been fun, but they don’t mean anything. It’s not romance, it’s physical pleasure. I love you is different from I love your body.

I said I love you because despite this situation and how shit it’s made me feel about myself, it was the truth. It meant that I care about you more than I do myself.