I don't even know how I got here.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
Somehow it is liberating to get this off my chest.

Submitted: December 23, 2011

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Submitted: December 23, 2011

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Somehow through the late nights, the drunk nights, and the morning afters, I fell for you. When you spoke to me, it was if I was something special. As if you were sharing something with me you’d never shared before. I could listen to you talk for hours about the ones you love, the ones you hate, and everyone in between. The stories about your childhood, former loves, and mistakes were all part of the seduction. I was so blinded. I was told actions speak louder than words, but I was wrong. The after date texts. The pet names. The inside jokes. Cooking for you. The promises. “Let’s go to Mexico. This summer,” you said. The confessions. The time you said I was the best part of America, was it true? Our secrets. The time I hit the car. Did they mean anything?

All I know is I have this feeling in my chest that refuses to leave. It keeps me from sleep. I dread the nights because that’s when it is so much stronger, and I lose the strength to fight it. I lose the strength to hide it. I can’t keep you out of my dreams. They aren’t even extravagant. All they contain are us being happy like we used to be. When I am around you, I’m completely overcome by it. You could, and have been folding your laundry or talking about some engineering concept, and I just get mesmerized. I can’t look away if I wanted to. But I don’t want to look away, I want you to look back and say you feel this too. You feel this clenching of your heart where you can't even breathe. You feel closer to me than anyone else you’ve ever known. I want you to say I’m important to you. Can’t you see how much I care about you?

I hate that you’re sexist. I hate that you’re racist. I hate that you don’t believe in my ambitions. I hate that you say, “Yes” but don’t mean it. I hate that you’re Catholic. I hate when you make me feel like a little kid. I hate that you don’t believe in my morals. I hate that you won’t give us a chance.

So now I’m fucked up. This feeling. I’m afraid it’ll never leave. Say I’m pretty. Say I’m smart. Say I’m mean. But you’re wrong. I’m more than that. I’m beautiful in liking you. I’m intelligent in knowing my own worth. I’m horrible in putting my feelings first. The thing is when I’m with you, I have to keep reminding myself that I’m a strong independent woman, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. No, I don’t need you. Not yet, anyway. I just want you more than I’ve wanted anything else. What I’m really afraid of is getting to the point where I will need you. I think I need to walk away before that point because I know you’ll never get to that point.

A part of me is selfish. Well if I’m being honest with you, a large part. I want to be the one to walk away in some desperate attempt that you’ll understand, feel the loss of what you’re missing. It is not for some gratification of power. I gain no pleasure in any pain you experience. Just a small sense of hope that you can possibly see things, feel things, the way I do because the way we are isn’t working. I got myself into this. Could it be any more fitting that I’m the one getting myself out? If anything, I want you to know you changed me. Yes, you taught me a respect for other cultures, spanish words, and how to sleep in the same bed with someone. But that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about how you taught me what it even meant to really like someone. Fuck, sometimes I’m scared you’ve taught me how to even love someone. If only it was those things, it’d be so easy. If only you hadn’t changed my perspective on the entire world. Now I hate that you’re teaching me how to walk away from someone. How to mean so little to someone when you mean so much to them. I’m not walking away because I don’t want you anymore but because I want you so much. I can’t bear it. I can’t stand to look at you and feel what I feel and know you feel nothing. I haven’t decided if I’m strong or weak for leaving. At least I’m being honest. I let myself be duped for so long. I thought all of it meant something. Meeting your friends, the late night talks, the heart-to-hearts. My biggest mistake was believing I was special to you. I’m just girl #26 now. This will pass. You’ll find someone else. She’ll be prettier, skinnier, better, and nicer. She’ll have an ass and a nose that you like better than mine. Slowly you’ll forget how I never tell you what’s on my mind when you ask. You’ll forget how I make a huge mess when I cook. You’ll forget how much I love cuddling up in your blanket. You’ll forget I hate double negatives in songs. You’ll forget that my greatest fear is being forgotten. If you haven’t already done this. If you ever even remembered.

I just won’t do it anymore. I go out and get hit on, and I want to say, “Sorry, I’m taken.” But I’m not. I’m so fucking emotional invested in you, and you don’t care. Did you get what you wanted? Was it to take away my innocence? God, I hope not. Even if you said it was, I couldn’t believe that. Was it just to have a warm body there on lonely nights? Was it to have a person who could understand you, who would take their time to learn that? I feel more exploited that way then if I was just for sex. You’ve taken more from me emotionally than you could have ever physically.Forget the virginity. It's the fact that I can't go anywhere without being reminded of you. I can't speak without wanting to talk about you. I can't do anything without wishing you were with me. Just because you have me wrapped around your finger doesn’t mean you should drag me around.

I’m going to do it. I’m going to walk away. You can watch my ass that you so love as I do. I like you so much. You don't understand. I wish you could understand. I only hope one day you’ll have the privilege to feel this way about someone too. I hope for you that they feel it too though. If, no, when you finally feel this way about someone think back to me, and this will all be clear.


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