If people were rain…
Then I must be drizzle,
And you…
A hurricane.
It’s the way people present themselves,
A first impression.
You came in and left destruction in your wake.
Destruction was everywhere… in everyone.
Including me.
You were one of those hurricanes that they named… although the name, I never heard.
Funny, because no one else saw, heard, or felt the effects of you like I did.
I was the sole survivor….
And the only one who experienced the hell you brought forth.
Me, being the drizzle… I came, and then left.
I only lasted for a couple of minutes.
Some days I think about what the world would be like if you hadn’t come as a hurricane.
If you hadn’t destroyed every ounce of my self-confidence… self-determination...
If you came as a monsoon, or a tsunami… both similar, yet with different lasting effects.
Instead you chose a severe storm, a high wind.
The effects on me, you never bother to figure out, because you’re too busy being unhappy yourself.
You see me, right? I moved on.
So why can’t you?

Have you ever loved someone so much?

Where every moment you spend without their arms wrapped around your waist is so incredibly painful, you think it’s slowly killing you?

Where you long every second for that certain trio of words to be sent your way, on the lisps of the wind?

“I love you.”

And

“I miss you”

Were trios that I did not catch that afternoon. I’m sure you sent them, but not to me.

Instead, what did I get?

“You will never be half the person that she is.”

I read that, and instantly I wanted to cry. I felt defeated, crushed, broken down. Ashamed, upset, and alone.

You said you weren’t thinking, that it was an accident, that you didn’t mean it.
But if you sent it, you thought it.

And that’s enough for me.

You tried to take it back, and believe me I wish you had succeeded.

But you didn’t, and you left me for wanting.

Because when that was over, when you said the only ten words I never would have expected to come out of your mouth, I was done.

Done what?

I was done fighting.  Fighting off bad luck, insecurities, you name it.

All this time I was there for you. And this was not the only time you’ve come back to slap me in the face.

You never bothered to really see if I was okay. Never cared to look into my eyes and discover that I’m worse off than you are.

That day you watched me fall asleep… you said that I was peaceful.

I can assure you those are the only moments of peacefulness I get out of my day.

That day you said you needed me, I was there.
But the day I needed you, you had vanished into somebody else’s arms.

Not a care in the world, not a look back to see me far off in the distance, too numb from the pain to wave goodbye.

It’s me or someone else, you say. You say I don’t care about the other, which is wrong.

You say it’s stupid of you to assume things about me, which is funny because it’s something people constantly do.

I’m used to it, it happens often.

But I never thought the assumptions would come from you.

I miss you, I need you, and I love you.

So talk to me, please.

Because you’re a part of me that I need.

“How do I get out of this Labyrinth of suffering?”
“Straight and fast.”
“Forgive”

There’s never really an answer.

I met you.
Friends, yeah. That’s how it started out.

But friends… almost never stay “just friends” forever.

Think about it.

Kindergarten. You thought they would be there by your side forever.

Junior High. A giant wake up call. Those people you thought you knew? They aren’t the same.

High School. New people. A new chapter. Okay, great. Make friends. Make promises you can’t keep.

Now.


Things complicated themselves in a way I would have never imagined.

I looked at you the same way I always did.

You were my best friend. You told me things that made me realize that life… it’s not so beautiful. I stayed awake every night. Wondering if you were going to live to see the next day, to see me. Wondering if I would be the last person you told:

“I love you, past Pluto”
“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”
“I promise.”
Or
“I never meant to hurt you.”

Well you did. It was never the kind of physical hurt that left you in agony for only a few hours. No, this was an emotional hurt. The kind that left you scared, worried, anxious. The kind that knew it was all your fault. That knew you were the reason they hated themselves, the reason they wanted to die.

Yeah, that kind of hurt runs deeper.

So I sat there everyday. Not able to focus, not able to think about anyone but you.

And then…


Bam.

You hit me with news that I didn’t know what to do with. So I told. I told her everything. It’s not like I could keep it piled up. I would have drowned. Both mentally, and physically. Yeah, you didn’t realize it. But it was that bad.

Well, it’s not like I told her everything. She figured out most of it.

And after, I felt awful. Like I broke a promise. I’m pretty sure I did, but at least I told someone whom I knew you trusted also. It was a heck of a lot better to have someone to talk to about everything. Someone else that I knew would try her hardest to understand.

See my problem? Of course not. I haven’t told you everything.

The news. Right. How could I forget?

You told me you loved me. Not the “you’re-my-best-friend” type of way, but the “I-want-to-date-you” type of way.

So here’s a question. What do you do when your best friend:

1) Self harms (sometimes because of you)
2) Loves you. Like, really loves you.

My answer: I don’t know.

You think I have all the answers. But I don’t.

I don’t know why you self harm.
I don’t know why you love me.
I don’t know how to make things better.
I don’t know why you’re so upset.
I don’t know what to do.

I love you. I’ve told you that before. But not the way you love me.

“It’s not the same.” You say.

I know it’s not. And I feel worse and worse every day because it’s not the same. I know it hurts you.

I don’t want to hurt you.

There’s my problem.

Back to the labyrinth.

Straight and fast: There’s no way that’s happening. I’d **** both of us in the process. You, because you would never know how much you mean to me. How responsible I feel for you. How much I love you. You would never know.
Me, because I’d **** you. And because of that, I’d have to go.

Forgive: That’s not the answer, in my case. Who do I forgive here? I can’t forgive myself. Because I’m the reason you hate living. I can’t forgive you. You’ve done nothing wrong.

So when asked the question:

“How do I get out of this labyrinth of suffering?”

My answer is simple.

“There is no way out.”