#a letter
Holding the closed envelope in his hand, Remus felt as though he’d carved his heart out from his chest and painted his entire sleeve red. Gods it wasn’t like him, he thought, to write a letter like this. He’d been so recklessly, almost cruelly honest. He had to end it in a hurry as well, before all the certainty slipped from his mind. The air was heating up rapidly after the morning passed, sweat started to gather on his forehead. He shoved the letter into the post, lest the jittering in his chest made him pull back and tear it up.
—
Sirius,
I hope you’re doing well. James sent me a letter earlier this This is not a letter to offer you forgiveness. Though that’s a complicated business, as I’m sure you understand. Yet, part of me feels I still could tell you about a few things on my mind.
James sent me a letter earlier this week. A tiny note, not much else beyond the haphazard announcement that you’ve run away from home. He told me I didn’t need to reply right away, that I should feel free to take as much time as I needed. But since I’ve been having all the time in the world at home, I have been obsessing my way through these thoughts. Here’s to share some of them, until I visit.
Before anything else, Sirius, I know you. Thus, I feel as though I could see exactly which string pulled in your head, and which string didn’t jump to react, that led to you doing what you did. This goes for both your running away and what you did before the end of school. I don’t know if I should be the one to pronounce judgements but— what happened and what you did to me was beyond rash and stupid (it goes without saying), but does not make you an evil person.
I could see how sorry you’ve been, despite not having approached me at all (which I appreciate, so thank you). I could tell how you’ve been beating yourself up, how you’ve locked yourself in your head this month at Grimmauld— ready to react, to lash out, to prove.
So now tell me, if I’m so wrong in assuming, whatever happened that led to your running away, was at least in part because of me?
I know the Potters must be trying their best to take care of you. And I’m sorry thatI.regret that don’t want to add to your agitation, so I thought it’s best that I wait before going to see you. Because Padfoot, I feel I shouldn’t forgive you so easily. Nor should I, out of respect for myself, offer forgiveness because I know how bad you’re feeling, or for I know what you did because of me. In the close possible world of having actually made a murderer out of me, I would surely never forgive you nor myself.
Though I have a confession to make. This is something which, for once, I doubt that you know.
It is perhaps a lie to say that I could have killed Severus that night. It would not have happened as you imagined, if James hadn’t arrived in time. Because you see, James didn’t arrive in time. There were a couple of seconds when Snape, screaming, got a good look at me, long enough for any other wolf to have taken a lunge at him. But even as I snarled and bared my teeth, I was in my own mind. I found myself able to hold my head in the wolf’s, in the presence of another— hostile— human being, even without any of you around.
It is this realisation that has accompanied every other dreadful feeling passing through my head since. It occurred to me that in the wake of the whole business with Snape, perhaps I should be feeling more ashamed of what I am than ever. But I was not. Am not. Does this surprise you? It was you who taught me this. Since you— all of you— started running with me. You made me see this horrible thing could have its glimpse of something beautiful, of happiness.
As I am writing, I draw up the vivid memory of a full moon, in my own eyes, albeit through the wolf. The three of you would be close behind me, and all the grounds would be sizzling with moonlight and magic.
Anyway.
I think about facing Snape again, and I feel a strange kind of honesty. To myself. I feel defiant— rather than ashamed— about looking Snape in the eyes again. Why wouldn’t I? I’ve been hiding but, I only hope that someday I’ll have nothing more to hide. Let the moon shine on all the broken pieces.
And that leads me to the second thing I wanted to say to you. Sirius, all our lives we’ve been made to feel in pain, having been broken, irrevocably lost something that makes one whole, normal. That we’re missing something crucial in our perspective that means we’ll never see ourselves and the world in the same way as them. But Sirius, love, we’ve come through. And standing on the other side, we can see better.
It’s a gift, that we should see the world differently from them, that we are able to. Magic is a gift. Loving you is a gift. And I can see it now, the wolf is a gift.
There’s pain. But that means it’s real— it’s because of the pain that it’s real. I think of the others, drifting through life without a glitch, without an ounce of wonder at what’s in the grey underside of fluffy white clouds. Think of Peter. His shelters. Those are all that he has. For his whole life all he’s known are shelters, and he’d grow up only anxious to find more shelters. But we stand beyond it, don’t we? We can run free and wild, if only we could pry off the shackles in our head. And beyond anything else, this is the one thought I’ve been having since everything. Do you see what I mean?
Ma is calling me to breakfast, I’m afraid I’ll have to end the letter here. I hope I’ll see you soon, I want to know what you have to say to me. And I hope you see now forgiveness is a strange thing I don’t yet know what to do with. I hope we figure it out.
Yours,
Remus
A Letter I May Never Send
Full disclosure, I’m currently writing this at 4 am. I suppose if you’re reading this it’s some time in the future when I finally finished getting everything out and decided to actually send it. At the time of writing, it’s mainly me just… needing to scream into the void so to say. So I apologize in advance for how rambly this is going to be. Literally just writing as things come to me.
That being said, I really hardly know what to say, or whether I should say anything at all. So much happened between us. A lot of which we never properly talked about, especially at the end.
I can’t say I necessarily regret that things ended. That would mean saying I regret what I have now. My child means absolutely everything to me and I would never wish her to not exist, regardless what I gave up along the way. I do regret HOW they ended. It’s been over a year since we last spoke as I’m beginning to write this and it still hurts.
There’s a lot of questions I often find myself wishing I could ask.
Does it still hurt you?
Are you like me and have tried to move on, but still feel an ache in your heart some nights when your mind wanders back to us?
Do you prefer to just not think about it at all?
Do you still talk about me? Reminiscing about some fun time we had, or maybe a quiet deep moment we shared?
One of my most vivid memories of you is the first time you held me. Laying on the futon, just goofing off. You saw cuts on my leg and you just rolled over and hugged me from behind. You told me, “you scare the shit out of me.” I don’t know if I’ve ever told you the feelings that came over me that night.
For damn near as long as I could remember I’d felt hollow and empty. Like the shadow of a person. Broken pieces that had been taped together to somewhat resemble a functional human being.
That one hug felt like it both broke me entirely and pulled my pieces back together all at the same time. It was one of only two times in my entire life that I felt really and truly wanted, cared about, seen.
It hurt.
I wanted so badly to just melt into the kind of love you seemed to be offering.
I wanted so badly to also run away and hide from the hurt and pain I was terrified would come along with that type of love.
Guess I did a bit of both?
I remember telling you about how friends I’d had for years turned their backs on me. You said you’d never do that. And you truly never did, even when I turned my back on you multiple times. I’m going to try and avoid sounding guilt trippy in this… we both know what I did and saying I’m sorry over and over again won’t change or fix anything. Lord knows it doesn’t make any pain I caused go away.
There are times I wonder how things might have been different if I’d talked to you more openly. If we would have worked things out, or if we were just meant to eventually drift away from each other. I tell myself often that we just were at different points in life. A big part of me thinks that’s true, but maybe instead of basically being strangers we could have still been a part of each other’s lives in smaller ways if I’d just talked to you.
I did always mean it when I said you were one of my best friends.
At times I think I miss that the most. Not and of the romantic aspects, but everything else.
The way you made me smile and laugh.
How big, warm, and comfortable your hugs always were.
Hell, even the way you used to purposefully get me riled up over something stupid just to hear me rant.
When you’d smile and wiggle your eyebrows. You have probably the sweetest smile on anyone I’ve ever known. I miss seeing it.
Sometimes it’s seemingly stupid shit that’ll make me think of you.
I was listening to Fruits Basket opening/ending songs in the car today and remembered watching with you. Anytime a Sasuke thing comes into Gamestop I still will think, “Oh I should send him a picture of this.” Going up to Shreveport reminds me of the time you went with me to see my psychologist and the waiter at Olive Garden gave us butter.
Sometimes a new game or show will come out and I still get the urge to message you to ramble about it.
I still have your number in my phone. I’ll randomly check Facebook sometimes to see if you unfriended or blocked me.
I’ve never been good at letting go of things. Especially anything that ever gives any kind of pleasure or happiness. Fuck, even when that happiness comes along with pain. Probably why I’ve always clung so tightly to people and things that were bad for me in the end.
Something I’m still working on. And apparently failing.
At one point a few months ago I deleted all the pictures I had of you off of my phone. A part of me regrets it. Probably the part that I literally just said doesn’t like letting go of the past. I guess part of me writing this whole letter is is somewhere in me hoping that somehow it’ll bring some sort of closure.
I don’t ever talk about you. That’s part of what hurts. All these memories of someone who meant the world to me, and I can’t even talk about you. Not about how I still miss you, or about some funny or stupid thing that just happens to remind me of you. At times I feel like I just need to get drunk and just vent/gush about you to someone for a few hours. Get it all out and maybe finally I could actually begin to properly move on emotionally.
Until then, I guess I’ll just keep coming back to this letter anytime I need to say anything. Wonder how long this will end up being. Wonder if you’re going to read it at all.
I’m not sure I would.
I’d probably see it and want to just delete it. Bury down whatever feelings I knew it would cause to creep up that I’d rather not have to face and deal with.
I’d want to delete it, but it would more likely just sit in my inbox, unread. I’d go back and stare at it sometimes, not opening it, but just seeing that it was there.
For me, at least, it would answer the question of “do you still think of me.” For a while that’d probably be enough for me. I’d just cling to that thought, not really wanting to face whatever else was inside.
I’ve never been good at accepting the idea of people I love no longer loving me. It’s something I’ve always preferred to just assume, because confirmation and me fully acknowledging it gave it a sense of permanence that felt like the end of the world.
Probably why I did a lot of what I did with you. Especially at the end. Instead of just telling you how I was feeling I just… stopped.
In some ways it was a way to defend myself. Others a way to protect you from me.
Knowing my own feelings for you and how I am when it comes to those sorts of strong feelings, I knew if I allowed you to remain in my life at all during that time I would never be able to let go.
Granted, I guess me writing this is me still not letting go… but I think I would have destroyed myself trying to hold onto something that was no longer there. I don’t know how long you’d have stayed for it, but the idea of dragging you even further down with me sealed the idea in my head that it was better for both of us if I just walked away.
Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. That was my reasoning at the time. I still feel like it holds water, to some degree. I mean look at me. It’s now 5 am and I’m sat here still writing this letter to you. Not sure where I’m even going with it. I just need to get it all out before I lose my mind, whether you ever end up seeing any of this or not.
I still have some of your stuff. Stuff I got you that you never took home. Stuff you brought over and forgot. I’ve debated asking Ariel to give it to you multiple times. Me clinging to the last remnants of you I guess. Without even pictures anymore it almost feels like if I give that stuff back it’ll be as if you never existed.
Even just sitting here thinking about it now has me on the verge of tears and wanting to message you “hi” just to see if you’d respond. Sound stupid? Maybe. Can still hear the sound of your voice in my head, maybe reassuring me that its not stupid.
Wonder what you would do if we saw each other in passing. Would you pretend to not see me? Would you meet my eyes and just keep walking? Would you smile back if I smiled at you?
I’ve been at work at Gamestop so many times wondering what it would be like if you walked into the store while I was there. Wondering how it’d make me feel. How you would feel to see me there.
I do a lot of wondering. Especially right now. Being alone at night and up at weird hours with a baby leaves me entirely too much time for my mind to wander. Usually to darker parts of my mind I prefer to forget exist.
I was doing good for a long time, you know. I got a tattoo that covers the scars on my one shoulder. I still think about it, though. The urges are still there, especially recently.
I’ve thought about going back on medication. Doctor offered it to me at my two week post-partum appointment because I was showing moderate symptoms of post-partum depression. Couple weeks later during my therapy appointment I was worse and was ranking as severe in both depression and anxiety.
I’ve had more breakdowns in the last month than I have in over a year. The loss of progress itself is depressing.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m writing this letter. Maybe it’s part of why I ran away from you. You reminded me too much of a darker time in my life, despite the fact you were one of the reasons I even got through that time at all.
I just had to stop writing for a minute because my baby spit her pacifier out in her sleep and was fussing. She’ll probably wake up hungry soon.
It’s been over an hour since I started writing. I’m really tired, but it feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I want to tell you. So much more I feel like I want to say knowing this may actually be the last time I have the chance.
So at the time of writing this part its like 11:30 in the morning. I’ve slept. Still tired. Not gonna read through what I already wrote for the sake of keeping it honest.
Can say right now I’m having one of those, “am I really doing this” moments.
Day two of writing this letter. It’s a little after 5 am once again. Saw several posts yesterday about people changing. I often think about how different of a person I am now than when we first met, and even how different I am from when things between us ended. I wonder how different you are now.
Would we even still get along, if somehow things between us were erased and we happened to meet for the first time again?
Weird question maybe. It’s something I’ve wondered before with others I’ve lost contact with or cut out over the years for one reason or another. A couple of times the answer has been yes. Or at least a “sort of” yes. Some people I wasn’t ever close to before I’ve grown extremely close to later on. Others I was close with and now, while we aren’t strangers, we definitely don’t have near as close a friendship as we once did. Some of those lost connections I find myself mourning at times. Others I have sense enough to appreciate the distance.
As of right now I still flip flop a bit on how I feel about you. I miss the friendship we shared, but I question whether I’d actually want it back, if ever given the opportunity.
Acknowledging that I could miss something down to the deepest core of my soul… and yet not necessarily want what I’m missing back… It’s been an extremely hard thing to finally come to terms with.
I once read a post about how people you knew in the past that you no longer see or speak to walk around with a certain version of you in their head forever. Always thought it an interesting idea and wondered what version of me people from before had in their minds and what they’d think of the me now compared to that one.
Another post I see on and off over the years is about people being close and then drifting apart… and just going through life knowing bits and pieces of each other. Knowing a former friends secrets that you still haven’t ever told anyone, or how someone you once knew preferred their eggs cooked.
It’s always been a hard concept for me to believe that I in any way lived on in anyone’s mind.
I read about “emotional impermanence.” Sort of like the idea of object permanence. Where just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it suddenly stopped existing. Emotional impermanence referring to the idea that if someone isn’t actively stating or showing that they like/love me or enjoy company then they must automatically revert to hating me. Or at the very least feeling nothing at all about me.
Sometimes I’m not sure which of those options scares me more.
Hate means there’s at least some value placed on my existence. “Where there is hate, there was once love” is a saying I heard a very long time ago. Hating me at least means I still have some impact on people. That even if I were gone someone would think of me in some way and give some sense of confirmation that I existed.
Been a few days since I’ve written on this at all. It’s almost midnight right now.
Correction… it is now just after midnight cause my baby keeps fussing.
Not even sure why I’m on here right now. Had a really bad day and just in a depressed and venty kinda mood. Probably not the best headspace to be in while writing this, but hey…
I was thinking the other night about something that created a pretty big rift between us. I know I tried talking to you about it many times while we were still together. How you could never seem to properly have sex with me. You used to always tell me it wasn’t my fault. Never got much more of an answer beyond that aside from at the very end when you said something about a porn addiction. Which honestly just made it worse. It just reinforced an idea that had been put in my head long before you came along that I failed at being sexually pleasurable.
The whole thought process wasn’t entirely your fault, of course. Someone years ago put the thought there first, and it had plenty of time to fest and plenty of other experiences to make me believe it more and more over the years. It’s something I struggle really bad with even now. No matter how hard I try, I still can’t shake the subconscious level thinking that I absolutely need to be sexually desired by whoever I’m with at any given time. And if I’m not then my worth just goes completely out the window.
That being said, I also to this day haven’t ever fully forgiven you for blabbing about our sex life to other people. Especially parts of it that were really personal even beyond just being about sex in general. Or the time (times?) I would wake up to you touching me. That both made me feel violated and really shitty because it was like you had no trouble getting aroused when I wasn’t actively involved, but as soon as I even just touched you suddenly it was gone.
I’m currently typing this on a laptop and I just accidentally erased a chunk of text and now I’m even more depressed and frustrated. I really want to just sleep right now. I won’t bother getting into all the reasons I can’t. I’ll just leave this here for now, though. I’m too upset to even bother venting anymore.
Been a bit since I wrote on this. Debated deleting it yesterday. Then I had a dream last night that you died. The feeling of my heart dropping out of my chest felt way too real. It reignited an old fear I used to have about a long distance friend. That he’d die somehow and I’d never know. He’d just stop replying one day and I’d never know what happened to him.
I guess now I have that fear with you. Except we don’t even talk. So I’ll just never know unless someone else decides to tell me.
I wonder if you’d be sad if you found out that I died.
I had another dream about you.
It wasn’t anything crazy.
I saw something I thought you’d like and sent you a picture of it with no context.
You replied as if it were nothing, commenting on whatever it was I had sent.
Left me wondering what you would actually do if that happened.
A Letter I May Never Send
Full disclosure, I’m currently writing this at 4 am. I suppose if you’re reading this it’s some time in the future when I finally finished getting everything out and decided to actually send it. At the time of writing, it’s mainly me just… needing to scream into the void so to say. So I apologize in advance for how rambly this is going to be. Literally just writing as things come to me.
That being said, I really hardly know what to say, or whether I should say anything at all. So much happened between us. A lot of which we never properly talked about, especially at the end.
I can’t say I necessarily regret that things ended. That would mean saying I regret what I have now. My child means absolutely everything to me and I would never wish her to not exist, regardless what I gave up along the way. I do regret HOW they ended. It’s been over a year since we last spoke as I’m beginning to write this and it still hurts.
There’s a lot of questions I often find myself wishing I could ask.
Does it still hurt you?
Are you like me and have tried to move on, but still feel an ache in your heart some nights when your mind wanders back to us?
Do you prefer to just not think about it at all?
Do you still talk about me? Reminiscing about some fun time we had, or maybe a quiet deep moment we shared?
One of my most vivid memories of you is the first time you held me. Laying on the futon, just goofing off. You saw cuts on my leg and you just rolled over and hugged me from behind. You told me, “you scare the shit out of me.” I don’t know if I’ve ever told you the feelings that came over me that night.
For damn near as long as I could remember I’d felt hollow and empty. Like the shadow of a person. Broken pieces that had been taped together to somewhat resemble a functional human being.
That one hug felt like it both broke me entirely and pulled my pieces back together all at the same time. It was one of only two times in my entire life that I felt really and truly wanted, cared about, seen.
It hurt.
I wanted so badly to just melt into the kind of love you seemed to be offering.
I wanted so badly to also run away and hide from the hurt and pain I was terrified would come along with that type of love.
Guess I did a bit of both?
I remember telling you about how friends I’d had for years turned their backs on me. You said you’d never do that. And you truly never did, even when I turned my back on you multiple times. I’m going to try and avoid sounding guilt trippy in this… we both know what I did and saying I’m sorry over and over again won’t change or fix anything. Lord knows it doesn’t make any pain I caused go away.
There are times I wonder how things might have been different if I’d talked to you more openly. If we would have worked things out, or if we were just meant to eventually drift away from each other. I tell myself often that we just were at different points in life. A big part of me thinks that’s true, but maybe instead of basically being strangers we could have still been a part of each other’s lives in smaller ways if I’d just talked to you.
I did always mean it when I said you were one of my best friends.
At times I think I miss that the most. Not and of the romantic aspects, but everything else.
The way you made me smile and laugh.
How big, warm, and comfortable your hugs always were.
Hell, even the way you used to purposefully get me riled up over something stupid just to hear me rant.
When you’d smile and wiggle your eyebrows. You have probably the sweetest smile on anyone I’ve ever known. I miss seeing it.
Sometimes it’s seemingly stupid shit that’ll make me think of you.
I was listening to Fruits Basket opening/ending songs in the car today and remembered watching with you. Anytime a Sasuke thing comes into Gamestop I still will think, “Oh I should send him a picture of this.” Going up to Shreveport reminds me of the time you went with me to see my psychologist and the waiter at Olive Garden gave us butter.
Sometimes a new game or show will come out and I still get the urge to message you to ramble about it.
I still have your number in my phone. I’ll randomly check Facebook sometimes to see if you unfriended or blocked me.
I’ve never been good at letting go of things. Especially anything that ever gives any kind of pleasure or happiness. Fuck, even when that happiness comes along with pain. Probably why I’ve always clung so tightly to people and things that were bad for me in the end.
Something I’m still working on. And apparently failing.
At one point a few months ago I deleted all the pictures I had of you off of my phone. A part of me regrets it. Probably the part that I literally just said doesn’t like letting go of the past. I guess part of me writing this whole letter is is somewhere in me hoping that somehow it’ll bring some sort of closure.
I don’t ever talk about you. That’s part of what hurts. All these memories of someone who meant the world to me, and I can’t even talk about you. Not about how I still miss you, or about some funny or stupid thing that just happens to remind me of you. At times I feel like I just need to get drunk and just vent/gush about you to someone for a few hours. Get it all out and maybe finally I could actually begin to properly move on emotionally.
Until then, I guess I’ll just keep coming back to this letter anytime I need to say anything. Wonder how long this will end up being. Wonder if you’re going to read it at all.
I’m not sure I would.
I’d probably see it and want to just delete it. Bury down whatever feelings I knew it would cause to creep up that I’d rather not have to face and deal with.
I’d want to delete it, but it would more likely just sit in my inbox, unread. I’d go back and stare at it sometimes, not opening it, but just seeing that it was there.
For me, at least, it would answer the question of “do you still think of me.” For a while that’d probably be enough for me. I’d just cling to that thought, not really wanting to face whatever else was inside.
I’ve never been good at accepting the idea of people I love no longer loving me. It’s something I’ve always preferred to just assume, because confirmation and me fully acknowledging it gave it a sense of permanence that felt like the end of the world.
Probably why I did a lot of what I did with you. Especially at the end. Instead of just telling you how I was feeling I just… stopped.
In some ways it was a way to defend myself. Others a way to protect you from me.
Knowing my own feelings for you and how I am when it comes to those sorts of strong feelings, I knew if I allowed you to remain in my life at all during that time I would never be able to let go.
Granted, I guess me writing this is me still not letting go… but I think I would have destroyed myself trying to hold onto something that was no longer there. I don’t know how long you’d have stayed for it, but the idea of dragging you even further down with me sealed the idea in my head that it was better for both of us if I just walked away.
Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. That was my reasoning at the time. I still feel like it holds water, to some degree. I mean look at me. It’s now 5 am and I’m sat here still writing this letter to you. Not sure where I’m even going with it. I just need to get it all out before I lose my mind, whether you ever end up seeing any of this or not.
I still have some of your stuff. Stuff I got you that you never took home. Stuff you brought over and forgot. I’ve debated asking Ariel to give it to you multiple times. Me clinging to the last remnants of you I guess. Without even pictures anymore it almost feels like if I give that stuff back it’ll be as if you never existed.
Even just sitting here thinking about it now has me on the verge of tears and wanting to message you “hi” just to see if you’d respond. Sound stupid? Maybe. Can still hear the sound of your voice in my head, maybe reassuring me that its not stupid.
Wonder what you would do if we saw each other in passing. Would you pretend to not see me? Would you meet my eyes and just keep walking? Would you smile back if I smiled at you?
I’ve been at work at Gamestop so many times wondering what it would be like if you walked into the store while I was there. Wondering how it’d make me feel. How you would feel to see me there.
I do a lot of wondering. Especially right now. Being alone at night and up at weird hours with a baby leaves me entirely too much time for my mind to wander. Usually to darker parts of my mind I prefer to forget exist.
I was doing good for a long time, you know. I got a tattoo that covers the scars on my one shoulder. I still think about it, though. The urges are still there, especially recently.
I’ve thought about going back on medication. Doctor offered it to me at my two week post-partum appointment because I was showing moderate symptoms of post-partum depression. Couple weeks later during my therapy appointment I was worse and was ranking as severe in both depression and anxiety.
I’ve had more breakdowns in the last month than I have in over a year. The loss of progress itself is depressing.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m writing this letter. Maybe it’s part of why I ran away from you. You reminded me too much of a darker time in my life, despite the fact you were one of the reasons I even got through that time at all.
I just had to stop writing for a minute because my baby spit her pacifier out in her sleep and was fussing. She’ll probably wake up hungry soon.
It’s been over an hour since I started writing. I’m really tired, but it feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I want to tell you. So much more I feel like I want to say knowing this may actually be the last time I have the chance.
So at the time of writing this part its like 11:30 in the morning. I’ve slept. Still tired. Not gonna read through what I already wrote for the sake of keeping it honest.
Can say right now I’m having one of those, “am I really doing this” moments.
Day two of writing this letter. It’s a little after 5 am once again. Saw several posts yesterday about people changing. I often think about how different of a person I am now than when we first met, and even how different I am from when things between us ended. I wonder how different you are now.
Would we even still get along, if somehow things between us were erased and we happened to meet for the first time again?
Weird question maybe. It’s something I’ve wondered before with others I’ve lost contact with or cut out over the years for one reason or another. A couple of times the answer has been yes. Or at least a “sort of” yes. Some people I wasn’t ever close to before I’ve grown extremely close to later on. Others I was close with and now, while we aren’t strangers, we definitely don’t have near as close a friendship as we once did. Some of those lost connections I find myself mourning at times. Others I have sense enough to appreciate the distance.
As of right now I still flip flop a bit on how I feel about you. I miss the friendship we shared, but I question whether I’d actually want it back, if ever given the opportunity.
Acknowledging that I could miss something down to the deepest core of my soul… and yet not necessarily want what I’m missing back… It’s been an extremely hard thing to finally come to terms with.
I once read a post about how people you knew in the past that you no longer see or speak to walk around with a certain version of you in their head forever. Always thought it an interesting idea and wondered what version of me people from before had in their minds and what they’d think of the me now compared to that one.
Another post I see on and off over the years is about people being close and then drifting apart… and just going through life knowing bits and pieces of each other. Knowing a former friends secrets that you still haven’t ever told anyone, or how someone you once knew preferred their eggs cooked.
It’s always been a hard concept for me to believe that I in any way lived on in anyone’s mind.
I read about “emotional impermanence.” Sort of like the idea of object permanence. Where just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it suddenly stopped existing. Emotional impermanence referring to the idea that if someone isn’t actively stating or showing that they like/love me or enjoy company then they must automatically revert to hating me. Or at the very least feeling nothing at all about me.
Sometimes I’m not sure which of those options scares me more.
Hate means there’s at least some value placed on my existence. “Where there is hate, there was once love” is a saying I heard a very long time ago. Hating me at least means I still have some impact on people. That even if I were gone someone would think of me in some way and give some sense of confirmation that I existed.
Been a few days since I’ve written on this at all. It’s almost midnight right now.
Correction… it is now just after midnight cause my baby keeps fussing.
Not even sure why I’m on here right now. Had a really bad day and just in a depressed and venty kinda mood. Probably not the best headspace to be in while writing this, but hey…
I was thinking the other night about something that created a pretty big rift between us. I know I tried talking to you about it many times while we were still together. How you could never seem to properly have sex with me. You used to always tell me it wasn’t my fault. Never got much more of an answer beyond that aside from at the very end when you said something about a porn addiction. Which honestly just made it worse. It just reinforced an idea that had been put in my head long before you came along that I failed at being sexually pleasurable.
The whole thought process wasn’t entirely your fault, of course. Someone years ago put the thought there first, and it had plenty of time to fest and plenty of other experiences to make me believe it more and more over the years. It’s something I struggle really bad with even now. No matter how hard I try, I still can’t shake the subconscious level thinking that I absolutely need to be sexually desired by whoever I’m with at any given time. And if I’m not then my worth just goes completely out the window.
That being said, I also to this day haven’t ever fully forgiven you for blabbing about our sex life to other people. Especially parts of it that were really personal even beyond just being about sex in general. Or the time (times?) I would wake up to you touching me. That both made me feel violated and really shitty because it was like you had no trouble getting aroused when I wasn’t actively involved, but as soon as I even just touched you suddenly it was gone.
I’m currently typing this on a laptop and I just accidentally erased a chunk of text and now I’m even more depressed and frustrated. I really want to just sleep right now. I won’t bother getting into all the reasons I can’t. I’ll just leave this here for now, though. I’m too upset to even bother venting anymore.
Been a bit since I wrote on this. Debated deleting it yesterday. Then I had a dream last night that you died. The feeling of my heart dropping out of my chest felt way too real. It reignited an old fear I used to have about a long distance friend. That he’d die somehow and I’d never know. He’d just stop replying one day and I’d never know what happened to him.
I guess now I have that fear with you. Except we don’t even talk. So I’ll just never know unless someone else decides to tell me.
I wonder if you’d be sad if you found out that I died.
A Letter I May Never Send
Full disclosure, I’m currently writing this at 4 am. I suppose if you’re reading this it’s some time in the future when I finally finished getting everything out and decided to actually send it. At the time of writing, it’s mainly me just… needing to scream into the void so to say. So I apologize in advance for how rambly this is going to be. Literally just writing as things come to me.
That being said, I really hardly know what to say, or whether I should say anything at all. So much happened between us. A lot of which we never properly talked about, especially at the end.
I can’t say I necessarily regret that things ended. That would mean saying I regret what I have now. My child means absolutely everything to me and I would never wish her to not exist, regardless what I gave up along the way. I do regret HOW they ended. It’s been over a year since we last spoke as I’m beginning to write this and it still hurts.
There’s a lot of questions I often find myself wishing I could ask.
Does it still hurt you?
Are you like me and have tried to move on, but still feel an ache in your heart some nights when your mind wanders back to us?
Do you prefer to just not think about it at all?
Do you still talk about me? Reminiscing about some fun time we had, or maybe a quiet deep moment we shared?
One of my most vivid memories of you is the first time you held me. Laying on the futon, just goofing off. You saw cuts on my leg and you just rolled over and hugged me from behind. You told me, “you scare the shit out of me.” I don’t know if I’ve ever told you the feelings that came over me that night.
For damn near as long as I could remember I’d felt hollow and empty. Like the shadow of a person. Broken pieces that had been taped together to somewhat resemble a functional human being.
That one hug felt like it both broke me entirely and pulled my pieces back together all at the same time. It was one of only two times in my entire life that I felt really and truly wanted, cared about, seen.
It hurt.
I wanted so badly to just melt into the kind of love you seemed to be offering.
I wanted so badly to also run away and hide from the hurt and pain I was terrified would come along with that type of love.
Guess I did a bit of both?
I remember telling you about how friends I’d had for years turned their backs on me. You said you’d never do that. And you truly never did, even when I turned my back on you multiple times. I’m going to try and avoid sounding guilt trippy in this… we both know what I did and saying I’m sorry over and over again won’t change or fix anything. Lord knows it doesn’t make any pain I caused go away.
There are times I wonder how things might have been different if I’d talked to you more openly. If we would have worked things out, or if we were just meant to eventually drift away from each other. I tell myself often that we just were at different points in life. A big part of me thinks that’s true, but maybe instead of basically being strangers we could have still been a part of each other’s lives in smaller ways if I’d just talked to you.
I did always mean it when I said you were one of my best friends.
At times I think I miss that the most. Not and of the romantic aspects, but everything else.
The way you made me smile and laugh.
How big, warm, and comfortable your hugs always were.
Hell, even the way you used to purposefully get me riled up over something stupid just to hear me rant.
When you’d smile and wiggle your eyebrows. You have probably the sweetest smile on anyone I’ve ever known. I miss seeing it.
Sometimes it’s seemingly stupid shit that’ll make me think of you.
I was listening to Fruits Basket opening/ending songs in the car today and remembered watching with you. Anytime a Sasuke thing comes into Gamestop I still will think, “Oh I should send him a picture of this.” Going up to Shreveport reminds me of the time you went with me to see my psychologist and the waiter at Olive Garden gave us butter.
Sometimes a new game or show will come out and I still get the urge to message you to ramble about it.
I still have your number in my phone. I’ll randomly check Facebook sometimes to see if you unfriended or blocked me.
I’ve never been good at letting go of things. Especially anything that ever gives any kind of pleasure or happiness. Fuck, even when that happiness comes along with pain. Probably why I’ve always clung so tightly to people and things that were bad for me in the end.
Something I’m still working on. And apparently failing.
At one point a few months ago I deleted all the pictures I had of you off of my phone. A part of me regrets it. Probably the part that I literally just said doesn’t like letting go of the past. I guess part of me writing this whole letter is is somewhere in me hoping that somehow it’ll bring some sort of closure.
I don’t ever talk about you. That’s part of what hurts. All these memories of someone who meant the world to me, and I can’t even talk about you. Not about how I still miss you, or about some funny or stupid thing that just happens to remind me of you. At times I feel like I just need to get drunk and just vent/gush about you to someone for a few hours. Get it all out and maybe finally I could actually begin to properly move on emotionally.
Until then, I guess I’ll just keep coming back to this letter anytime I need to say anything. Wonder how long this will end up being. Wonder if you’re going to read it at all.
I’m not sure I would.
I’d probably see it and want to just delete it. Bury down whatever feelings I knew it would cause to creep up that I’d rather not have to face and deal with.
I’d want to delete it, but it would more likely just sit in my inbox, unread. I’d go back and stare at it sometimes, not opening it, but just seeing that it was there.
For me, at least, it would answer the question of “do you still think of me.” For a while that’d probably be enough for me. I’d just cling to that thought, not really wanting to face whatever else was inside.
I’ve never been good at accepting the idea of people I love no longer loving me. It’s something I’ve always preferred to just assume, because confirmation and me fully acknowledging it gave it a sense of permanence that felt like the end of the world.
Probably why I did a lot of what I did with you. Especially at the end. Instead of just telling you how I was feeling I just… stopped.
In some ways it was a way to defend myself. Others a way to protect you from me.
Knowing my own feelings for you and how I am when it comes to those sorts of strong feelings, I knew if I allowed you to remain in my life at all during that time I would never be able to let go.
Granted, I guess me writing this is me still not letting go… but I think I would have destroyed myself trying to hold onto something that was no longer there. I don’t know how long you’d have stayed for it, but the idea of dragging you even further down with me sealed the idea in my head that it was better for both of us if I just walked away.
Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. That was my reasoning at the time. I still feel like it holds water, to some degree. I mean look at me. It’s now 5 am and I’m sat here still writing this letter to you. Not sure where I’m even going with it. I just need to get it all out before I lose my mind, whether you ever end up seeing any of this or not.
I still have some of your stuff. Stuff I got you that you never took home. Stuff you brought over and forgot. I’ve debated asking Ariel to give it to you multiple times. Me clinging to the last remnants of you I guess. Without even pictures anymore it almost feels like if I give that stuff back it’ll be as if you never existed.
Even just sitting here thinking about it now has me on the verge of tears and wanting to message you “hi” just to see if you’d respond. Sound stupid? Maybe. Can still hear the sound of your voice in my head, maybe reassuring me that its not stupid.
Wonder what you would do if we saw each other in passing. Would you pretend to not see me? Would you meet my eyes and just keep walking? Would you smile back if I smiled at you?
I’ve been at work at Gamestop so many times wondering what it would be like if you walked into the store while I was there. Wondering how it’d make me feel. How you would feel to see me there.
I do a lot of wondering. Especially right now. Being alone at night and up at weird hours with a baby leaves me entirely too much time for my mind to wander. Usually to darker parts of my mind I prefer to forget exist.
I was doing good for a long time, you know. I got a tattoo that covers the scars on my one shoulder. I still think about it, though. The urges are still there, especially recently.
I’ve thought about going back on medication. Doctor offered it to me at my two week post-partum appointment because I was showing moderate symptoms of post-partum depression. Couple weeks later during my therapy appointment I was worse and was ranking as severe in both depression and anxiety.
I’ve had more breakdowns in the last month than I have in over a year. The loss of progress itself is depressing.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m writing this letter. Maybe it’s part of why I ran away from you. You reminded me too much of a darker time in my life, despite the fact you were one of the reasons I even got through that time at all.
I just had to stop writing for a minute because my baby spit her pacifier out in her sleep and was fussing. She’ll probably wake up hungry soon.
It’s been over an hour since I started writing. I’m really tired, but it feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I want to tell you. So much more I feel like I want to say knowing this may actually be the last time I have the chance.
So at the time of writing this part its like 11:30 in the morning. I’ve slept. Still tired. Not gonna read through what I already wrote for the sake of keeping it honest.
Can say right now I’m having one of those, “am I really doing this” moments.
Day two of writing this letter. It’s a little after 5 am once again. Saw several posts yesterday about people changing. I often think about how different of a person I am now than when we first met, and even how different I am from when things between us ended. I wonder how different you are now.
Would we even still get along, if somehow things between us were erased and we happened to meet for the first time again?
Weird question maybe. It’s something I’ve wondered before with others I’ve lost contact with or cut out over the years for one reason or another. A couple of times the answer has been yes. Or at least a “sort of” yes. Some people I wasn’t ever close to before I’ve grown extremely close to later on. Others I was close with and now, while we aren’t strangers, we definitely don’t have near as close a friendship as we once did. Some of those lost connections I find myself mourning at times. Others I have sense enough to appreciate the distance.
As of right now I still flip flop a bit on how I feel about you. I miss the friendship we shared, but I question whether I’d actually want it back, if ever given the opportunity.
Acknowledging that I could miss something down to the deepest core of my soul… and yet not necessarily want what I’m missing back… It’s been an extremely hard thing to finally come to terms with.
I once read a post about how people you knew in the past that you no longer see or speak to walk around with a certain version of you in their head forever. Always thought it an interesting idea and wondered what version of me people from before had in their minds and what they’d think of the me now compared to that one.
Another post I see on and off over the years is about people being close and then drifting apart… and just going through life knowing bits and pieces of each other. Knowing a former friends secrets that you still haven’t ever told anyone, or how someone you once knew preferred their eggs cooked.
It’s always been a hard concept for me to believe that I in any way lived on in anyone’s mind.
I read about “emotional impermanence.” Sort of like the idea of object permanence. Where just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it suddenly stopped existing. Emotional impermanence referring to the idea that if someone isn’t actively stating or showing that they like/love me or enjoy company then they must automatically revert to hating me. Or at the very least feeling nothing at all about me.
Sometimes I’m not sure which of those options scares me more.
Hate means there’s at least some value placed on my existence. “Where there is hate, there was once love” is a saying I heard a very long time ago. Hating me at least means I still have some impact on people. That even if I were gone someone would think of me in some way and give some sense of confirmation that I existed.
Been a few days since I’ve written on this at all. It’s almost midnight right now.
Correction… it is now just after midnight cause my baby keeps fussing.
Not even sure why I’m on here right now. Had a really bad day and just in a depressed and venty kinda mood. Probably not the best headspace to be in while writing this, but hey…
I was thinking the other night about something that created a pretty big rift between us. I know I tried talking to you about it many times while we were still together. How you could never seem to properly have sex with me. You used to always tell me it wasn’t my fault. Never got much more of an answer beyond that aside from at the very end when you said something about a porn addiction. Which honestly just made it worse. It just reinforced an idea that had been put in my head long before you came along that I failed at being sexually pleasurable.
The whole thought process wasn’t entirely your fault, of course. Someone years ago put the thought there first, and it had plenty of time to fest and plenty of other experiences to make me believe it more and more over the years. It’s something I struggle really bad with even now. No matter how hard I try, I still can’t shake the subconscious level thinking that I absolutely need to be sexually desired by whoever I’m with at any given time. And if I’m not then my worth just goes completely out the window.
That being said, I also to this day haven’t ever fully forgiven you for blabbing about our sex life to other people. Especially parts of it that were really personal even beyond just being about sex in general. Or the time (times?) I would wake up to you touching me. That both made me feel violated and really shitty because it was like you had no trouble getting aroused when I wasn’t actively involved, but as soon as I even just touched you suddenly it was gone.
I’m currently typing this on a laptop and I just accidentally erased a chunk of text and now I’m even more depressed and frustrated. I really want to just sleep right now. I won’t bother getting into all the reasons I can’t. I’ll just leave this here for now, though. I’m too upset to even bother venting anymore.
A Letter I May Never Send
Full disclosure, I’m currently writing this at 4 am. I suppose if you’re reading this it’s some time in the future when I finally finished getting everything out and decided to actually send it. At the time of writing, it’s mainly me just… needing to scream into the void so to say. So I apologize in advance for how rambly this is going to be. Literally just writing as things come to me.
That being said, I really hardly know what to say, or whether I should say anything at all. So much happened between us. A lot of which we never properly talked about, especially at the end.
I can’t say I necessarily regret that things ended. That would mean saying I regret what I have now. My child means absolutely everything to me and I would never wish her to not exist, regardless what I gave up along the way. I do regret HOW they ended. It’s been over a year since we last spoke as I’m beginning to write this and it still hurts.
There’s a lot of questions I often find myself wishing I could ask.
Does it still hurt you?
Are you like me and have tried to move on, but still feel an ache in your heart some nights when your mind wanders back to us?
Do you prefer to just not think about it at all?
Do you still talk about me? Reminiscing about some fun time we had, or maybe a quiet deep moment we shared?
One of my most vivid memories of you is the first time you held me. Laying on the futon, just goofing off. You saw cuts on my leg and you just rolled over and hugged me from behind. You told me, “you scare the shit out of me.” I don’t know if I’ve ever told you the feelings that came over me that night.
For damn near as long as I could remember I’d felt hollow and empty. Like the shadow of a person. Broken pieces that had been taped together to somewhat resemble a functional human being.
That one hug felt like it both broke me entirely and pulled my pieces back together all at the same time. It was one of only two times in my entire life that I felt really and truly wanted, cared about, seen.
It hurt.
I wanted so badly to just melt into the kind of love you seemed to be offering.
I wanted so badly to also run away and hide from the hurt and pain I was terrified would come along with that type of love.
Guess I did a bit of both?
I remember telling you about how friends I’d had for years turned their backs on me. You said you’d never do that. And you truly never did, even when I turned my back on you multiple times. I’m going to try and avoid sounding guilt trippy in this… we both know what I did and saying I’m sorry over and over again won’t change or fix anything. Lord knows it doesn’t make any pain I caused go away.
There are times I wonder how things might have been different if I’d talked to you more openly. If we would have worked things out, or if we were just meant to eventually drift away from each other. I tell myself often that we just were at different points in life. A big part of me thinks that’s true, but maybe instead of basically being strangers we could have still been a part of each other’s lives in smaller ways if I’d just talked to you.
I did always mean it when I said you were one of my best friends.
At times I think I miss that the most. Not and of the romantic aspects, but everything else.
The way you made me smile and laugh.
How big, warm, and comfortable your hugs always were.
Hell, even the way you used to purposefully get me riled up over something stupid just to hear me rant.
When you’d smile and wiggle your eyebrows. You have probably the sweetest smile on anyone I’ve ever known. I miss seeing it.
Sometimes it’s seemingly stupid shit that’ll make me think of you.
I was listening to Fruits Basket opening/ending songs in the car today and remembered watching with you. Anytime a Sasuke thing comes into Gamestop I still will think, “Oh I should send him a picture of this.” Going up to Shreveport reminds me of the time you went with me to see my psychologist and the waiter at Olive Garden gave us butter.
Sometimes a new game or show will come out and I still get the urge to message you to ramble about it.
I still have your number in my phone. I’ll randomly check Facebook sometimes to see if you unfriended or blocked me.
I’ve never been good at letting go of things. Especially anything that ever gives any kind of pleasure or happiness. Fuck, even when that happiness comes along with pain. Probably why I’ve always clung so tightly to people and things that were bad for me in the end.
Something I’m still working on. And apparently failing.
At one point a few months ago I deleted all the pictures I had of you off of my phone. A part of me regrets it. Probably the part that I literally just said doesn’t like letting go of the past. I guess part of me writing this whole letter is is somewhere in me hoping that somehow it’ll bring some sort of closure.
I don’t ever talk about you. That’s part of what hurts. All these memories of someone who meant the world to me, and I can’t even talk about you. Not about how I still miss you, or about some funny or stupid thing that just happens to remind me of you. At times I feel like I just need to get drunk and just vent/gush about you to someone for a few hours. Get it all out and maybe finally I could actually begin to properly move on emotionally.
Until then, I guess I’ll just keep coming back to this letter anytime I need to say anything. Wonder how long this will end up being. Wonder if you’re going to read it at all.
I’m not sure I would.
I’d probably see it and want to just delete it. Bury down whatever feelings I knew it would cause to creep up that I’d rather not have to face and deal with.
I’d want to delete it, but it would more likely just sit in my inbox, unread. I’d go back and stare at it sometimes, not opening it, but just seeing that it was there.
For me, at least, it would answer the question of “do you still think of me.” For a while that’d probably be enough for me. I’d just cling to that thought, not really wanting to face whatever else was inside.
I’ve never been good at accepting the idea of people I love no longer loving me. It’s something I’ve always preferred to just assume, because confirmation and me fully acknowledging it gave it a sense of permanence that felt like the end of the world.
Probably why I did a lot of what I did with you. Especially at the end. Instead of just telling you how I was feeling I just… stopped.
In some ways it was a way to defend myself. Others a way to protect you from me.
Knowing my own feelings for you and how I am when it comes to those sorts of strong feelings, I knew if I allowed you to remain in my life at all during that time I would never be able to let go.
Granted, I guess me writing this is me still not letting go… but I think I would have destroyed myself trying to hold onto something that was no longer there. I don’t know how long you’d have stayed for it, but the idea of dragging you even further down with me sealed the idea in my head that it was better for both of us if I just walked away.
Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. That was my reasoning at the time. I still feel like it holds water, to some degree. I mean look at me. It’s now 5 am and I’m sat here still writing this letter to you. Not sure where I’m even going with it. I just need to get it all out before I lose my mind, whether you ever end up seeing any of this or not.
I still have some of your stuff. Stuff I got you that you never took home. Stuff you brought over and forgot. I’ve debated asking Ariel to give it to you multiple times. Me clinging to the last remnants of you I guess. Without even pictures anymore it almost feels like if I give that stuff back it’ll be as if you never existed.
Even just sitting here thinking about it now has me on the verge of tears and wanting to message you “hi” just to see if you’d respond. Sound stupid? Maybe. Can still hear the sound of your voice in my head, maybe reassuring me that its not stupid.
Wonder what you would do if we saw each other in passing. Would you pretend to not see me? Would you meet my eyes and just keep walking? Would you smile back if I smiled at you?
I’ve been at work at Gamestop so many times wondering what it would be like if you walked into the store while I was there. Wondering how it’d make me feel. How you would feel to see me there.
I do a lot of wondering. Especially right now. Being alone at night and up at weird hours with a baby leaves me entirely too much time for my mind to wander. Usually to darker parts of my mind I prefer to forget exist.
I was doing good for a long time, you know. I got a tattoo that covers the scars on my one shoulder. I still think about it, though. The urges are still there, especially recently.
I’ve thought about going back on medication. Doctor offered it to me at my two week post-partum appointment because I was showing moderate symptoms of post-partum depression. Couple weeks later during my therapy appointment I was worse and was ranking as severe in both depression and anxiety.
I’ve had more breakdowns in the last month than I have in over a year. The loss of progress itself is depressing.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m writing this letter. Maybe it’s part of why I ran away from you. You reminded me too much of a darker time in my life, despite the fact you were one of the reasons I even got through that time at all.
I just had to stop writing for a minute because my baby spit her pacifier out in her sleep and was fussing. She’ll probably wake up hungry soon.
It’s been over an hour since I started writing. I’m really tired, but it feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I want to tell you. So much more I feel like I want to say knowing this may actually be the last time I have the chance.
So at the time of writing this part its like 11:30 in the morning. I’ve slept. Still tired. Not gonna read through what I already wrote for the sake of keeping it honest.
Can say right now I’m having one of those, “am I really doing this” moments.
Day two of writing this letter. It’s a little after 5 am once again. Saw several posts yesterday about people changing. I often think about how different of a person I am now than when we first met, and even how different I am from when things between us ended. I wonder how different you are now.
Would we even still get along, if somehow things between us were erased and we happened to meet for the first time again?
Weird question maybe. It’s something I’ve wondered before with others I’ve lost contact with or cut out over the years for one reason or another. A couple of times the answer has been yes. Or at least a “sort of” yes. Some people I wasn’t ever close to before I’ve grown extremely close to later on. Others I was close with and now, while we aren’t strangers, we definitely don’t have near as close a friendship as we once did. Some of those lost connections I find myself mourning at times. Others I have sense enough to appreciate the distance.
As of right now I still flip flop a bit on how I feel about you. I miss the friendship we shared, but I question whether I’d actually want it back, if ever given the opportunity.
Acknowledging that I could miss something down to the deepest core of my soul… and yet not necessarily want what I’m missing back… It’s been an extremely hard thing to finally come to terms with.
I once read a post about how people you knew in the past that you no longer see or speak to walk around with a certain version of you in their head forever. Always thought it an interesting idea and wondered what version of me people from before had in their minds and what they’d think of the me now compared to that one.
Another post I see on and off over the years is about people being close and then drifting apart… and just going through life knowing bits and pieces of each other. Knowing a former friends secrets that you still haven’t ever told anyone, or how someone you once knew preferred their eggs cooked.
It’s always been a hard concept for me to believe that I in any way lived on in anyone’s mind.
I read about “emotional impermanence.” Sort of like the idea of object permanence. Where just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it suddenly stopped existing. Emotional impermanence referring to the idea that if someone isn’t actively stating or showing that they like/love me or enjoy company then they must automatically revert to hating me. Or at the very least feeling nothing at all about me.
Sometimes I’m not sure which of those options scares me more.
Hate means there’s at least some value placed on my existence. “Where there is hate, there was once love” is a saying I heard a very long time ago. Hating me at least means I still have some impact on people. That even if I were gone someone would think of me in some way and give some sense of confirmation that I existed.
