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ijusthavesomethingstosay · 7 years ago

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I never write any of this down.

I started being scared that anyone would see it.

But today I can’t stand it anymore, so I’m going to fucking write it down.

Thank the whiskey.

About five years ago, I met you for the first time. I was talking to your best friend. Although I never talk about this, I was very nearly in love with him. He stopped talking to me, and I actually thought to myself that no one would love me, and I should kill myself.

You Facebook messaged me. It was cute. You still maintain the habit of drunk texting when you shouldn’t. So do I.

We talked. Became involved. I helped you to decorate your family’s Christmas tree. You posted an Instagram photo; a vague reference, nothing serious. We chatted about cats and the universe. I was a dreamer then.

I do not think you know this, but I was at my ex boyfriend’s house when you texted me and misspelled “herpes” (you said “herpies”) and I cried. There, at his house. I was afraid to lose you, already. I had just slept with him for the last time, and he had recently told me he could never be with me due to my having it.

Your friend, the one I saw everyday for nearly a month and cared about a lot, had told you this when he found out we were talking. I was furious. Embarrassed. You told me you did not care. And I loved you then.

On New Years’ Eve, you asked me to be your girlfriend. We were at a certain friend’s house, one known for having parties. I had with me one of my longer standing friends, whom I still value more than she knows. We popped champagne, ended up back at our friends’ house. The guy I had originally been talking to brought some girl, and the girl’s friend was a nightmare. Dramatic, bitchy, etc. Apparently it was crazy.

But I only remember hearing about those antics, because we were cuddled together for the first time. Your chest was hairy; you said it made you self-conscious, I told you I loved it. I did.

On the way home either that day or the next, I can’t remember…your car hit some number in mileage. You took a picture. I remember that much.

Over the next few months, you learned about me and I learned about you. We drank, partied. I met your friends. Although it didn’t happen so drastically at first, they became my friends too. I still miss them.

One night, we were lying in my bed at my dad’s house, a twin. This was maybe March, or April? We’d been drinking (shocker) and you told me you loved me while crying your eyes out. And I loved you too.

I had a pet rat named Lola. You came over. I had a paper due for my final semester of community college, for history. It accidentally got deleted, and I knew I’d have to start all over. You’d brought orange vodka of some sort. I cried from stress, and you told me it’d be okay. I woke up at 7 a.m. and rewrote that paper, because it was indeed okay.

You are one of the only people in this world that can make me jealous. During this time period, while you were working for the “patient first”-type clinic, there was a girl you knew who was bitchy and just a little too close for comfort. I regret my pettiness towards her, just so that you know.

Around this time, we went over to a friend’s house to roll molly and drink a little. Our friend proposed an orgy…I didn’t hear, but saw him suggest it. Knowing what I had, and both of our comfort levels, you declined for us. Thank you for that. It was still a blast. We went to sleep together, and made love. And I loved you so much.

On April Fool’s Day, we were at your parents house, in the basement. Large flowers painted over heated floors. You played a joke on me: “It’s not working out.” I said okay and got ready to leave. You stopped me, “No no no, it’s a joke.” I didn’t get it, and I don’t now. You said, “You were just going to go!” or something to that effect. I told you I didn’t like to stay where I wasn’t wanted. It’s true.

Over that summer, I felt awkward about being friends with what would become our mutual friends. I felt judged. This wasn’t without warrant; the girls in this group had been harsh to me, and at one point even found out what I had and used it to slander you to your friends. And you loved me anyway.

Eventually, we did all get together. A girl in the group that you had previously talked to treated me like shit but then was friendly. I was uncomfortable, but tried to make it work. I so badly wanted to be liked, to be someone you could have around their friends. It took so long, but it ended up okay.

In the beginning of August that year, we went to Cedar Point in Ohio. It was a blast, if not a little bit dramatic when our friends that were a longtime couple argued a good deal. They’re not together now. Then again, neither are we. I still have that dinosaur hat at my dad’s. You took a video while on one of the roller coasters.

Shortly afterwards, we went to Mexico. You’d bought the trip earlier in the year. It was something to look forward to. And it was so much fun. We took very few pictures, and drank very much tequila and rum. Your drink was madras, mine was mojito. Five at a time, up to the room. Tipping the bartender in pesos like it was going out of style. We met a few older couples, vowed to come back at the same time of year to see them. We never did.

We came home, to the house we had just moved into together with a friend of mine and a few of her friends. She and I were working at the same restaurant, and for the most part it was alright. I started drinking way too much. Our house got broken into (but that’s its own story.) Tensions built over my extreme allergic reactions and my inability to cope with the idea that I could die.

My friend’s birthday was in the fall, and we went to the club. You were invited, but declined the offer. I came home to nearly 15 Bud-lights next to the bed. Several days later, I found in your computer a search for finding “women in your area” or some shit. I was so upset. I showed my friend, and she told me she didn’t trust you with me. She would tell me that again, too. I asked you about it and you lied.

That New Years’, we had a party at our house. I got so drunk that I threw up everywhere and had alcohol poisoning until 8 p.m. the next day. Since New Years’ day was our anniversary, that was really shitty of me. I’m sorry I ruined it like that.

But the thing is, you just turned on a movie and made me stuff to eat or drink. The movie was Elysium. You made me hot tea to drink even though we both knew I’d throw it up. I was a mess. I loved you.

Things got worse. “The confrontation” (and I know you know what I mean) occurred and I called out of work to move out. You did not follow suit. You stayed living with my friends for the final couple of months they were willing to have us. Three days after I moved out in February of ’14, I told you that I felt as though you didn’t care about me as much as I did about you. You said you thought I was right.

I told you you ought to come do this in person, because I refused to have a text exchange. We cried in your car for ages.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I just loved you so much.”

I came inside, to my new basement room at my dad’s, and was unaware for a while afterwards that you had come in and told my dad that I was wonderful and it was you, not me. Of course this did not un-break my heart, and the rest of our relationship was predicated upon this incident.

I talked to a couple of guys while we were apart, one old one new. Slept with both of them, was very unfulfilled. Missed you.

During this time, I was the most sober I’ve been before or since for years. Sadness overcame me, I couldn’t eat or sleep. I was waiting tables full-time. My manager told me I looked like I’d lost weight, and asked if I was okay. I said yes. I lied.

I sat in that basement, listening to “Don’t think twice, it’s alright” on repeat. I didn’t care about anything at all, except for the fact that you didn’t care about me.

Sometimes, you would come over with beer and have what felt like pity sex with me. It was a glimpse of hope and a terrible wash of grief.

Just as I started to get over you (not truly, but I mean that I was eating again) there you were. Back again. I loved you so fully it was an obvious choice. This was in April or May.

At a party:

“It’s so good to have you back.”

“I was an idiot.”

We went to a party at our friends’ house, and took a small dose of mushrooms. It was a beautiful summer day and a great time. I started to really become close with our friends that summer, and as a consequence of that, I was drunk a lot. But I was so happy.

In July, your retina detached. It was scary. I met our friends at a local bar to talk with them about it and hang out. The friend I used to talk to got way too drunk and I drove him home. Actually, to our friends’ house. We sat in his basement, and this guy said to me “No one would know if we had sex right now.” I said, “I would know…”

I told you about this, and although you weren’t happy you weren’t displeased enough to say anything to him.

August that year, I went to a festival with our friends but not you. You never wanted to go do things with everyone. That was fine, but I just missed you when you weren’t there.

That fall, we went to the Renn Fest. It was fun, but we were very drunk; and that same friend of yours was extremely flirty with me. I don’t remember this part, but I heard from others he kissed me. He was dating my sister’s good friend. We walked back to your car, and you drove us home. You didn’t care to say anything to either of us.

Since I didn’t remember him kissing me, I didn’t think much of this. But later, I did hear. And besides being upset with myself and the situation, it occurred to me that you didn’t care that it had happened. I was deeply hurt.

That winter, we did a lot of drugs. That New Years’, we missed the ball drop because we were in the bathroom doing coke. My sister was there that night, I believe, and at another party at that friend’s house shortly thereafter. You all rolled together and took pictures. She called you her brother, and you called her your sister. It warmed my heart. I still look at those and want to cry.

Not long after this we laid in bed in the upper level of our friends’ house. I started a dialogue that would have been heartbreaking, if I wasn’t already so numb.

“Do you still not love me the same as I love you?”

Silence.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“I can’t even cry. I’m out of tears.”

“I’m sorry.”

Also that winter, there was a party at which I left with a few people to go to a different house. That same friend I used to talk to kissed me, but this time I didn’t stop him. I felt guilty but knew you didn’t care about me, so I drunkenly came back and told you. When I didn’t remember telling you in the morning, you wouldn’t come near me. I asked you why you cared so much when you’d made me want to kill myself before.

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

You left, and later we met back up. All returned to “normal.” Somehow.

At this point, it’s March 2015. Things were decent again for a while. My sister and I attended our grandmother’s memorial service, and her friend found out while we were out of state that her boyfriend had kissed me at the Renn Fest. It was a whole big thing. It made me seriously question why I was part of this friend group.

That summer, you came to a festival with us. The first day was great. We have so many great pictures from that day. I still really love them. See some of them on your Instagram, if I’m not mistaken.

The second day was a different story. We argued before we even left the hotel. You didn’t want to go. I didn’t know how to help. We weren’t good at working things out. Obviously.

That summer, I had had a talk with our friends late late at night about my potential and my plans for my life. I had decided to go back to school. Shortly after the festival, I did just that.

The stress of school really got to me. I was also doing too much Adderall. My classes were difficult for me considering the fact that I had been out of school for two years. You were living farther away, and never wanted to visit me at my house. I came to you a lot of the time.

I felt like our friends didn’t like me anymore. Really, I felt like you didn’t like me anymore.

I was hanging out with a guy that really liked me, that I had to turn down. I had had a few drinks, but I couldn’t be around him anymore. I got a DUI leaving his house. You picked me up. You held me all night on the floor when I said I wanted to die. And even though I knew we would never be all that we could be, and that I never would get through to you, deep inside where the true you lived, I loved you. And I needed you, and you were there.

A week later, I broke up with you. I brought a frozen pizza to your house. For the first time in so long, ironically, you came up behind me and hugged and kissed me and I actually felt you loved me. But it was too late. I knew what I was going to say, and couldn’t hold back.

“I’ve been sad for a really long time.”

And so it began. The first night of us crying and just sitting there not knowing how to fix our relationship or ourselves. It didn’t feel like missing you, because I had already been missing you for a year and a half.

I came over a few more times, and we’d cuddle or have sex. Once we rolled and I told you loving you was like loving a black hole. It was honest, but I still regret it. You should have seen your face.

Eventually, this stopped. You found a girl, and dated her for a while. I also found a guy. I didn’t think we wouldn’t be able to be friends, but I was wrong. She didn’t like us being friends, so we weren’t.

We had a long talk on Instagram about all of this and then you dropped off. I was furious. I listened to Adele on repeat for weeks. I couldn’t handle it. And I realized that I loved you still.

I was in Atlanta with my boyfriend when you texted me again.

“I broke up with her, I was wrong. You were one of my best friends” etc., etc.

I was overjoyed of course. I missed you a whole lot.

I saw you so much these past five months that I don’t remember the first time I saw you again, but it was relief embodied. You don’t know how much someone means to you until you’ve considered them dead and gone, and then there they are. It nearly stops your heart.

You helped us move. You met my boyfriend. We’ve talked so much. Some of it has been sad, and some happy. The main takeaway is that not a whole lot has changed here in terms of the fact that we’re pretty important to each other. I’ll spare you the details you already know, but tears have been cried. Three weeks ago after your birthday celebration I cried the hardest I have in years. Things were said. Neither of us has a solution.

Today, two years (in two days) after my DUI, and almost two years after our break up, you went out of your way to tell me you’ve been talking to someone. I stand by my assertion that I want you to be happy, but I think that I have found a new threshold for heartbreak.

We have missed each other again and again for five years. I cried today and felt pathetic. I don’t want this feeling, but I know how I feel. It’s not fair to you or to me or to anyone in my life.

When I said I wouldn’t say things that weren’t “fair,” I meant that it’s not fair of me to be sad that you have someone new. It’s not fair of me to love you so much I feel sick to my stomach, because I moved away and I have a new life. I tried to let you go, and damn it, I thought I had.

When I almost crashed my car, and you cried on my floor all night; I loved you.

When we went on vacation to a resort in the mountains, and all we needed was each other and the bitter cold; I loved you.

When I soaked your bed through with my wet bathing suit and you put up with me; I loved you.

When we had to pretend we didn’t cuddle all night because we weren’t “allowed” to sleep in the same bed; I loved you.

When we walked to the beach in the cold to smoke, and looked at the stars; or drove home from the airport listening to the Killers; or walked in on your mom crying on the floor; or you had to park your car at the bottom of my dad’s street and they left a snarky note on it; or you gave me your high school picture with your baby picture attached when we moved in; or you told me that if you weren’t “good at sex” I wouldn’t want to be with you…I loved you.

I could not begin to actually remember all the good and bad things that have happened between us. It’s just so much. I spent so much of my time drinking myself into oblivion because I thought you didn’t give a shit about me, and then today you went out of your way to tell me you were talking to someone new.

It’s fucking funny, because I still don’t know how you really feel. And I love you still.

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