my biggest glow up last year was finally being able to tell a guy „no“, telling him to stop touching me, and finally being able to push him away, slap and hit him.
it didn’t work tho that’s why 2022 me will always carry a knife with her :)
Im not celebrating anyones death because I believe in karma (and I also believe that’s what came to snatch his soul). A lot of people are pretending they have no clue why BW are glad he’s gone but they know.
Y’all know why. Stop making ppl feel like shit then wondering why they don’t like you. It’s that simple. This YouTuber summarized his “career” pretty well.
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.
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.
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.
As a verdict is possibly hours away, a sense of dread has been building in my stomach for what it will mean for Amber’s future, as well as all victims of intimate partner violence (IPV), particularly as women’s basic rights continue to be under attack in the United States. Like many people who are following the case, I have personal experiences with abuse. Much of my research focuses on IPV, specifically, the disparities in resources and services that are available for survivors to leave their abusers, such as economic, social, geographical barriers. It’s a topic which is deeply tied to my own personal experiences and academic career.
I initially was ambivalent to Amber Heard. Before I began to research the case, I was firmly in the “they both suck” camp, having only briefly glanced through articles. I started to pay more attention to the media coverage over the past six weeks and was really staggered by how Heard was being portrayed as a lying, crazy, gold-digging woman through narratives that were not only going unchallenged, but were heavily perpetuated in the public discourse. Even worse, that the abuse she experienced had been capitalized on by “true crime” junkies and mocked in TikTok videos and Youtube compilations. So I began watching the trial live and found that there was far more evidence and far more substantial evidence which shows that JD was the perpetrator of abuse within their relationship.
Is she guilty of fighting back? Absolutely. Shenever liedabout doing so, even dating back to her 2016 deposition. However, fighting back against a man who has beaten you, sexually assaulted you, controlled your career, finances, and who you can associate with does not equate to being an abuser. It’s simply surviving. And yes, I’ve heard those audio tapes, the in which she’s expresses her incredulity at him for stating their fights were fair when she feared he would kill her.
His case has relied upon deeply misogynistic narratives to discredit both her claims and her character. She was after his money all along, even though she refused the 30 million dollar fortune she was legally entitled to, as there was no prenup. She painted on bruises, even though a makeup artist testified to covering up her swollen lip and two black eyes. She cut off his finger, even though multiple texts and even an audio recording showcase him admitting to doing it in the midst of a bender. She didn’t donate her money, even though she and the organization created a 10 year plan for her to make yearly payments (in my personal opinion, what she does with her money either way is nobody’s fucking business). Also worth noting, an ACLU representative testified to her being ahead of schedule until Depp began suing her. She made up a hoax, because she documented her abuse - as we advise all people who are in abusive situations to do. She’s a liar, because women are inherently deceitful liars.
I don’t know whether Amber Heard will win her case. We’re witnessing a radical right-wing political swing to control and criminalize women’s bodies with Roe v. Wade under attack right now. To be blunt, I have very little faith in the justice system and that a jury - in Virginia of all places - will rule in favour of an abused woman over her charismatic, powerful ex-husband. However, I think it’s important to remember that Amber did everything right, that is, everything we tell women to do. She documented her abuse, left her abusive partner, and was granted a restraining order - and she’s continuing to be punished for doing so. If Amber, a privileged white woman with access to economic resources, is still struggling to escape her abuser, how can we expect women without those privileges to?
I wanted to address a few of the comments I received in regards to the case, particularly Amber’s actions and alleged inconsistencies.
Amber’s history of violence. Amber does not have a history of violence. The incident with her ex-girlfriend was sensationalized by two aggressive, prejudiced officers. In Tasya’s own words, “in 2009, Amber was wrongfully accused for an incident that was misinterpreted and over-sensationalized by two individuals in a power position. I recount hints of misogynistic attitudes toward us which later appeared to be homophobic when they found out we were domestic partners and not just ‘friends.’ Charges were quickly dropped and she was released moments later. It’s disheartening that Amber’s integrity and story are being questioned yet again. Amber is a brilliant, honest and beautiful woman and I have the utmost respect for her. We shared 5 wonderful years together and remain close to this day.”
I don’t like Amber as a person. You don’t have like Amber to believe the evidence that she was and is still being abused. That’s irrelevant. There is no such thing as a “perfect victim”. Survivors can be messy, flawed people and that should have no bearing on whether or not they should be believed.
It’s a defamation case, not a domestic violence case. As Rottenborn, her lawyer, stated, if even one of Amber’s allegations is found to be true by the jury, she wins her case.
I wanted to mention a few other things. We’ve since learned that John Depp attempted to block Amber from following Covid-19 safety measures during her deposition. Amber wanted to wear an N95 mask to protect herself and her infant daughter, as the Omicron variant was surging. Not only did Depp himself refuse to follow proper masking, he attempted to bar Amber from safe masking too, even in spite of the Virginia guidelines. I can’t express how grotesque and inhumane that is.
Depp’s team also put forward a motion to strike a statement in Rottenborn’s closing argument pertaining to abuse survivors, in which he states, “that their decision in this case would send a message to every victim of domestic abuse everywhere.” It really shows that this case was never about standing up for survivors, it was about one man abusing his ex-wife. Remember, if Depp wins, it means that survivors of all genders- which includes men - will not be able to speak about their experiences with abuse for fear of legal retaliationby their abusers. John Depp does not care about survivors because he is an abuser.
I also hope others continue to write pro-Amber pieces. If you’re considering doing so, I would encourage you to turn your anonymous messages off to protect yourself from harassment. Within hours of posting, I had to restrict my messages after receiving multiple anonymous commenters calling me derogatory names and gendered insults, as well as one telling me to unalive myself. I’ve been on this website for over 10 years and have never once experienced that. This seems to be the norm for JD stans, which is partly why I think so many people are hesitant to express support for Amber.
Please continue to be supportive of Amber in your own lives. Please believe survivors.
i wish the game misao didnt take the “uwu feel bad for kurata” angle. he r#ped someone and murdered/attempted to murder at least 2 people. hes bad no redemption for him
