Bits and Pieces of a Damaged But Not Broken Mind

Letter to a Remarkable Human from an Ungrateful Brat

This is a "letter" to a woman who hurt me in the worst way possible: gaining my trust enough to open up to her. I'm a very private and suspicious person by nature, and this woman peeled away my layers, which is something I never wanted. She didn't abuse the information I had divulged to her, however it's an anger at myself for opening up since I rarely do so; especially at the quantity that I did. I am aware that this is irrational, yet what anger isn't?
~

Yes, I am aware that at this point it's been something like a month, but I feel just as bad as I did that night.
My stomach churns and my head hurts and my heart twists and I go cold each time I think about it.
Of when I spoke to you.

And I am angry, furious, and hate you for it. And I never want to see you again. Of course I still care about you, and concern over you, but my resentment is much, much stronger.

And I know, I know that it isn't your fault, though I blame you so intensely for it. I know that it is my own fault.
I know that the idiotic doing is only my misdoing, and mine alone.

I know.

I should've never come over. I never should've spoken. I never should've opened up. I never should've admitted all that I did.
I don't know what possessed me to say all that I had. Was it your sympathy? Your kindness? Your caring? Your encouragement? Your questions?

Whatever it was it did the trick.

And I hate myself for it.

Because I didn't tell you one small thing that would propel you to feel sorry for me and nothing more, to only think it over a moment before forgetting about it forever.

I told you so many, oh, so many things. I could take consolation in knowing that you don't know everything, but it makes me feel no relief all the same.

Simply because, what I told you has everything to do with my core. Everything that I hold in me and against me and around me and hide so well from everyone.
And for all those years of building up layers that I was careful not to let anyone but a select few to see passed a couple of them; you tore a gaping hole in the wall while I did nothing but sat there and gave you what you asked without blinking.

How could I have been so stupid, foolish, dumb, idiotic, blind, unthinking, pathetic. I am always all of those things, but did I have to showcase them so in a light that bathed them in the blinding obvious?

I don't just feel sick, I actually get sick each time I think about what I've done - baring such sensitive things, or lack of, while I sat there without a single protest.

But why? Why didn't you stop me? You knew how much regret I'd experience after practically spilling my guts. What made you push me to talk, what sadistic part of you wanted to understand and know about me so badly that I felt horrible pain still today from telling you so many things?

Why did you do that? You knew, you freaking knew how much I would hate myself and beat myself up over it. You knew how much I already hate myself, and how much I already beat myself up. I don't mind the extra abuse, but I can't deal with the additional noise in my head. My mind is already a mess, so many things that do not belong in there have made themselves at home. Things I'd rather forget, clog up and alter memories that I don't mind keeping, and all the darkness comes and kicks me when I least expect it, just to remind me not become comfortable in the current situation.

You'd think that at this point I would take note of the cycle so I can at least prepare for it, but you'd be thinking wrong. Some people don't learn, least of all me. And just when I think I've memorized the pattern, something distracts me, or I let down my guard, but usually I just get cocky and tell myself that I can handle it just fine. And the cycle repeats uninterrupted due to my negligence in estimating how strong the depressing inclination actually is as apposed to what I think I can handle. And it's been going on for years, what would be different now?

Is it totally unnatural to claim that at this point I have found comfort in the darkness, that pain is only relief, though it is temporary? Is it insane, to claim that at this point I know no better? That the sadness, indifference, and apathy is all I know. That no flames nor blades could make me feel alive. That no amount of coddling could soften my heart that has become so tough and numb. That I find no happiness in things that should make me laugh and smiles linger on my lips. That there is just nothing, nothing at all. Save for hate, regret, pain, lethargy, and apparently,  ignorance.

~
The woman that I've written about it is actually remarkable. She is the reason that I graduated high school,and one of the only people that have really and truly cared and looked out for me. My anger is unreasonable and should not take away from her excellence in any way.
I had written this in bitterness, pain, and anger. Yet I know deep down that she healed me in ways no one else had ever tried.
I owe so much to her.

Thank you, Chana'le.