Draft of the letters from my heart.

Apr 28, 2008 - 21:44 PM PST

I wrote you a letter today, but I didn't send it. I wrote it with the blood you spilled as you ripped my heart out. My soul transfixed on chalky white paper. That of an envelope from a school I would've never previously considered attending, but now contemplate to make this whole bloody mess ironic for you baby. I want you to feel what you've put me through; that burning sensation as you tugged on each individual heart string, the asphyxiation as you tightened your grip around my throat. You make me feel so fucking ridiculous when I talk about you this way, and thats probably what you'd see, if you ever looked at me a little more carefully. I feel myself slipping away, I'm now a shell of the person I formerly was when I knew you, really knew you. Not this front you put on to hide your own pain and dissatisfaction with the shitty life you were given, selfishly hurting others to fuel your ego and ease your own pain and abandonment issues. Thats why you haven't had one successful relationship in your life, but you still have the nerve to go and pin this on me, so you look like the victim here. I am but forced to "reject" your proposal of downsizing. You can't go from having to world to having a continent, not to mention one of meager importance. It's all or nothing baby, and you knew that when you made your ridiculous proposal. So don't pretend like you know what rejection really feels like. Although I do owe you some credit because I wouldn't be who I am without you. I wouldn't be this bitter, lonely shell of a woman who is afraid to really trust anyone ever again because the only person I ever really trusted hurt me more than anyone else ever could. But I guess I had to let you, so I would know what pain really feels like. I trusted you, I loved you, whole heartedly, enough so that you could hurt me more than anyone else, but only because I thought you were the one person who was completely incapable of doing so. I thought you'd be the one standing next to me as others turned their backs, but I was wrong, even after I stood by you through all that rain. It disgusts me that you thought you needed to share your personal thoughts about me to your stupid little friends, but at least you had the decency to acknowledge that I was correct when I asked if the letter to a supposedly anonymous source was for me. Your apology didn't help. I know you think its funny that you still have that much power over me, and you were happy to let me know I was right because you knew I'd see it soon since I still look everyday. I'm sure you laughed to yourself when you got my note. I hope you didn't share that with your friends too, but I really did mean it when I said I missed you. I didn't want to show you the letter I wrote, but after all this build-up, now I feel obligated. Kind of like when you told me you felt obligated to stay with me, but you turned your back anyway. I'll do you the honor of satisfaction though, and you can share my letter with anyone for all I car. Not like its personal or anything, I didn't just put my heart and soul into it, or spill out feelings deeper than I've ever felt.

Dear _______,
You were wrong when you said I put it back together. I'm just good at pretending, but you know all about that. Sometimes I still feel alone. When things remind me of you, I try to make new memories. It still hasn't worked. Sometimes I do things just to spite you, even though I know you'll never find out. I've changed a lot since you knew me, but in a lot of ways I've stayed the same. I've tried to replace you. It hasn't worked. I still cry sometimes when I think about you. I pretend like I don't care, but you were my first real heartbreak. You've shown me the darker side of myself by hurting me. Thank you for making me an artist. I feel like I can really call myself that now. I read a book that I bought for you. It made me cry. I waited a long time to read it, but I knew that it would help. It did. Sometimes I feel like there is no one I can talk to because you're the only one who would really understand me like that. And sometimes I forget that I can't call you to tell you thing like that. I almost told you something today; I almost opened up to you again. I see things everyday that remind me of you: sometimes it makes me smile, other times it makes me cry. When I look at you I feel like I don't know who you are anymore, but I still feel like I'm one of the only people who really does. I'm selfish for thinking that, and you would tell me so if you knew. I don't cry for other people anymore, in books or movies, I only cry when I'm alone because it reminds me that now I really am, now that you aren't in my life anymore. I wish I could show you this and you would read it as your former self, but I wish the person you are now would never see it. I don't know if I could ever share this with you, or anyone else for that matter, but i needed to write this. Not for you, but for my own selfish intents and purposes, just like you did for me because I need some way to cope, some way to deal, with the pain of losing you, the pain that you willingly and purposefully inflicted. I needed it because I have nothing else to turn to, now that I don't have you.