heartbreak in many forms

6pm two days after

(Mentions of self harm and abuse, proceed with caution)

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I knew I'd call him through the night if I didn't do something with myself. I didn't want to bother him but I wanted him to stay with me, I needed him to stay with me. When he left to sleep, I knew my brain would flood me with thousands of false realities. Although, there was no way I could say they were exactly false.

By midnight, I was walking the streets. I left my phone in the house thinking it was a smart idea to do so, incase I did call him. I was walking, the shitty glow of street lights gleaming and reminding me where the pavement met the road, and it was decently empty. I thought, for a moment, that I wanted to lay on the road. It was peaceful and there was nobody there so, it wasn't going to be treacherous.

Being at my mum's house, or really any house that wasn't my dad's, meant I got my phone longer. There was no reason for me not to have my phone with me while I walked, but I left it anyway.

I couldn't call him.
I wouldn't call him.

I sat in the park opposite the house I was staying in, listening to the orchestra of crickets and the odd fee bees, watching a spider form itself a web, dangling helplessly from itself, desperately trying to produce enough silk for her web to look spectacular. For it to function spectacularly.

It was 2 days later by the time I felt ok again. The paranoia wasn't in overdrive, shitty thoughts weren't flooding my head and ruining my truths of the reality I was cursed to exist in. I had freaked out in his dms, panicking and pulling at my hair, tugging at my skin and picking the scabs on my back. I was being weak, vulnerable, and begging him not to hurt me, not to yell at me, not to hate me.

Not to kill me.

Every time I thought "it's gotten better", it seemed like I was a pathetic liar. Lying to myself above all others, convincing myself that the pain was normal. The the intense grasp around my heart that tightened every night was a natural experience and necessary to the love. To the relationship. Being paranoid constantly and refusing to talk about it until I was radiating, shaking with an intensity that would only reveal it all.

I had felt better but I was forever going to be paranoid. Maybe, he didn't hate me this time, but he would. Or maybe he did hate me and just didn't think it was the right time to tell me. Perhaps, I thought, he disliked that I was starting to see his plan and to throw me off the scent he pretended to care and reassure me.

He would leave me. I mean, I'd sleep all the time and I was constantly doing the wrong things. God forbid I had feelings about something or became a bit emotional. How dare I get a bit jealous when I knew there was a chance someone would come along to steal him from me.

But it was whatever. Sent him nice things and it was like he'd forgotten it all. What else would I have expected? Remembering things was something I did only because it sparked some form of joy in me to think that perhaps by me remembering something, he'd think of me highly.

Because it was something I so desperately wanted for me.

I wanted something I had said to be remembered. But nothing of me was memorable. My short hair, my weird eyes, my bad skin, my painted clothes, even my shirt height. If I was to be remembered for anything, it would have been how easy to manipulate I was. It couldn't be helped, years of trauma, abuse, guilt tripping. I was never good at spotting it until much much later. And the one friend I had vanished from me, opening new doors of toxic traits I shouldn't have missed being thrown into my face.

It was 6pm by the time I had messaged him.
6pm Two days after.
And of of course he didn't notice. Or he didn't talk about it at least.

I wanted to go to my friend so badly, she knew so much about me, but I realised I didn't want to be her friend anymore. He didn't treat me well, didn't treat anyone well, and we all just had to endure it but when I was sad it was always "watch smt" or "ignore it". I didn't need to ignore it, whatever I needed wasn't to ignore it. I wanted her comfort, to know that we could talk without the air being tense. I wanted to sit next to her without feeling my insides rip out, but being friends wasn't our thing. We weren't good at it. This was the third time we tried and it failed again, maybe it was time we gave it up.