(Read at your own risk. May cause severe depression and crying episodes to the one it is intended for)
To the one behind the Mask
I’ve never gotten a pain letter before. You see I was told I am a terrible patience stone, too self-involved to actually listen to people’s problems without overshadowing it with my own. Yet, how many has it been? Two, three letters so far? Nah, more if I look deeply into all your letters because there is anguish in all of them.
Why do you write to me when I read and can’t even respond? I am tired of justifying myself and giving excuses and now it is not even about being too busy making myself from the ground up, or carving a path for myself in this career I am so unaware about and why is it that I still feel the incessant urge to write you THIS reply, not talking about any of YOUR problems, but about my problem of responding to them.
How many times will you say goodbye, only to reproach me for not stopping you again? Reproaching, another word I learned from you. Yeah, I googled it after the fifth time you used it. I would have called it accusing. Accusing me of not being a good friend, accusing me of taking you for granted, accusing me of faking the you-and-I thing when you know yourself of my fickle-mindedness and emotions, accusing me of not giving you importance, accusing me that I move on too easy from every person. Well, guess what, you knew about all this way beforehand. I am a terrible friend, I forget things and people and stray so far away from the negativity that even my shadow won’t touch it. Didn’t I mention that one guy whom I abandoned just because he depressed me? Well, you’re being that guy now. And I am done being that person who makes others whole. I am done being the person who stops you from hurting. I am done being the light and essence of anyone’s life. You know why?
Because of Silver Linings playbook. I give and give all these parts of myself, I give conversations and smiles and songs and laughter. I give so much of positivity and so much goodness from the world that I GATHERED FOR MYSELF. But I give parts of something that is already too little. And what do I get in return?
A pain letter? Or three?
Better take your three cigarettes and a song and keep them in the hellhole that you do not want to get out of. I was right when I said you do not WANT to be happy. Because being happy means deluding yourself into believing the lies. Because being happy means not getting offended when I don’t type goodbye. Because being happy means, I texted you, forgetting everything, I talked to you and never mentioned the past while you can’t even make it past one conversation without digging up graves.
So, yes, THIS is the final reply and the final GOODBYE.
And your sister was right about me all along but apparently, she forgot to see in the mirror because she does the same doesn’t she. Leave you to fill the gaps of boredom when she does find time out of her ‘oh so busy’ schedule. Reproach me all you want. This field has taught me to be selfishly shameless, not that I wasn’t this way before.
Still the White Swan?
The Unseemly Psychopath.