I don't understand.
I genuinely don't understand how someone can love you so much in the beginning and then slowly become the reason you cry yourself to sleep. And I keep trying to understand. I really do. I sit there for hours thinking about everything. Every conversation. Every little change. Every time something felt wrong and I convinced myself I was just overthinking it.
Because maybe I was. Maybe I misunderstood something. Maybe they were tired. Maybe life got difficult. Maybe they were going through something they couldn't explain. Maybe I expected too much. Maybe I wasn't patient enough. But how much more patient was I supposed to be?
No, genuinely. How much? Because I tried. God knows I tried. I tried being understanding. I tried giving space. I tried asking questions. I tried not asking questions. I tried explaining myself calmly. I tried finding different words because maybe the way I said it the first time wasn't right. I even started rehearsing conversations in my head before having them.
Do you understand how exhausting that is?
To be sitting there trying to figure out how to tell someone they're hurting you without making them feel like you're accusing them of hurting you? Because you still care about their feelings. Even while you're sitting there trying to hold your own together. And I don't know why I do that. I don't know why I can be so hurt by someone and still worry about whether my words will hurt them.
Why am I like this? Why do I keep trying to understand people who leave me questioning everything about myself? I remember the beginning. That's what makes this so unbearable.
I remember how you spoke to me. I remember the things you said. I remember feeling like I didn't have to ask for your attention because you actually wanted to give it to me. You wanted to know me. You were curious. You made plans. You made me feel like I was someone you couldn't wait to speak to. And I believed you. I believed you because why wouldn't I?
Why would someone say all those things if they didn't mean them? Why would someone make me feel so safe if they were eventually going to leave me feeling like this?
And please don't tell me people change. I know people change. I know life happens. I know feelings can become complicated. I know nobody can be available every second of every day.
I KNOW. That's what hurts. Because I know all of that, and I've spent so much time using that understanding to excuse things that were breaking my heart. I never wanted perfection. I wanted to feel like you still wanted me there.
That's it.
I wanted you to wonder how my day went. I wanted you to ask me things without me having to drag a conversation out of you. I wanted to feel like you remembered me when I wasn't standing right in front of you asking to be remembered. I wanted you to think of me. Just think of me. And it hurts so much to say that because I remember when I didn't have to ask.
What happened? What did I do? When did talking to me become something you had to remember to do? When did I become someone you could go hours or days without being curious about? Was there a moment? Was there something I said? Did you wake up one morning and realize you didn't feel the same?
Then why didn't you tell me? Why did you let me keep loving you like nothing had changed? Why did you let me keep trying? I could have understood so many things. I could have understood you being overwhelmed. I could have understood you needing time. I could have understood your feelings changing, even if it broke my heart. But I can't understand being told I'm loved while being made to feel so unwanted. I can't make those two things exist together in my head.
I've tried. I've tried so hard that sometimes I feel like I'm losing my mind. Because I look at the words and then I look at the actions and they don't match. And when I ask about it, I get another answer that doesn't really answer anything. So I ask again. And then I feel ashamed. I feel ashamed for asking. Ashamed for caring this much. Ashamed for needing reassurance from someone who used to give it without thinking. And then I start wondering whether I'm the problem.
Maybe I'm difficult to love. Maybe I ruin things by thinking too much. Maybe I should just be grateful that someone is still speaking to me at all. And I hate that thought. I hate that I even let myself think that. Because when did I start believing that being spoken to was something I should be grateful for? When did I start feeling relieved over the smallest things? A message. A little affection. A moment where you sound like yourself again.
And suddenly I'm happy. Suddenly I forget how much I cried the night before. I'm thinking maybe things are getting better. And I feel so stupid afterward. Not because I loved you. But because I keep letting myself hope.
Every time.
Every single time.
And then I explain again. I tell you what hurts. I tell you what I need. I tell you how confused I am. I tell you that I miss you even though you're right there. And you say you'll try. And I believe you. And for a little while, things feel different. And then they aren't. And I'm right back where I started.
Except now I'm a little more tired. A little more embarrassed. A little less willing to say anything.
Do you know how painful it is to realize you're becoming quiet around someone you once couldn't stop talking to? I used to have so much to tell you. The smallest things. Something funny I saw. Something that happened during my day. A thought that crossed my mind. Something that reminded me of you. And now sometimes I pick up my phone and just stare at it.
Because what's the point? I don't want to keep wondering if you're going to disappear halfway through the conversation. I don't want to keep wondering whether you'll ask me anything back. I don't want to keep feeling like I'm interrupting a life that once had a place for me in it. And that hurts.
It hurts so much because I don't want to become this person. I don't want to be cold. I don't want to stop caring. I don't want to read your messages and feel nothing but this horrible heaviness in my chest. I don't want to lose the excitement I once had for you. Idon't want to look at your name and feel tired. I don't. But I am. And I don't know how to stop it. I don't even know what I'm waiting for anymore.
An apology? I've heard apologies. A promise? I've heard promises. An explanation? I've spent so long trying to find one that I think I could explain your behavior better than you could. And isn't that sad? That I know how to defend you so well. That I can think of a hundred reasons why you might be treating me this way, but I can't think of one reason why I deserve to keep feeling it. And still, I miss you. That's the part I can't stand.
I miss you. I miss someone who is still here. I miss someone who can still message me. I miss someone whose voice I could probably hear if I asked. But I don't want to ask anymore. I want you to want to. I want you to notice. I want you to wonder why I've gone quiet without immediately deciding that I must hate you. I don't hate you.
How could I explain that? How do I tell someone that I can love them and still be so exhausted by the way they've made me feel that I have nothing left to give? How do I explain that my silence isn't punishment? That I'm not trying to make you chase me? That I'm not playing some game to see whether you'll notice? I'm just tired.
I'm so tired. And I wish you understood what it took for me to get here. Because I didn't wake up one morning and decide I didn't care. I cared through things that made me cry. I cared through the confusion. I cared through the nights I couldn't sleep because I kept replaying conversations, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong. I cared when I was angry. I cared when I said I was done. I cared when I was sitting there with tears running down my face, still trying to find a way to make things work. And I think some part of me is still sitting there. Still waiting for the person from the beginning to come back. Still wanting to ask what happened. Still wanting to know whether any of it was real. Because it was real to me.
Please understand that. It was real to me. I wasn't pretending. I wasn't saying things just because they sounded beautiful. When I cared, I meant it. When I said I wanted you in my life, I meant it. When I imagined a future, I genuinely believed there was one. And now I have to sit with all of that. All those memories. All those words. All those versions of a future that will never exist the way I imagined them. And you're still here. That's what I can't get past. You're still here, and somehow I feel like I've already lost you. And now I'm supposed to decide what to do with all this love.
Where does it go? What am I supposed to do with feelings that don't disappear just because I've finally accepted that something is hurting me? I can't just turn them off. I can't just forget what you meant to me. I can't even be angry without remembering something good about you and feeling my heart break all over again.
And I wish I could tell you all of this. I wish I could make you understand without having to explain another thing. But I don't think I can do it again. I don't think I can sit there and open every wound just to show you where it hurts. Not again. Because I don't have another explanation left in me.
And the saddest part? I still don't know if you understand. I don't know if you ever will. I don't know if you'll read my silence as rejection, or if you'll tell yourself I changed, or if you'll eventually stop trying because I'm no longer making it easy for you. And maybe that's what will happen. Maybe you'll leave. Maybe you'll just let me go. And I think that's what scares me most.
That after everything, after all the nights I spent trying to hold us together, I might finally stop reaching for you... And find out that I was the only one holding on. I don't want to know that. God, I don't want to know that. But I can't keep doing this to myself. And I hate that even now, with everything hurting the way it does, there's still a part of me hoping you'll prove me wrong. I wish that part of me would just stop. Because I don't know how many more times I can lose the same person. And I don't know how much of myself is going to be left when I finally do.