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Today has been not so great.

November 17, 2013

I have a roof over my head. The member of the herd that bit me today didn’t break the skin. I didn’t sleep with TLTL. I’m grateful for all of this and more.

Still, each exhale is a heavy sigh. I disconnected from Facebook again. I don’t want to see when MTIA is active online but not communicating with me.

I sent him a note today saying I was going to give him space, that I wasn’t running, just that it seemed like he needed it, and that I would still be here no matter what. Blah fucking blah blah blah.

Yesterday, he was apparently feeling suicidal, but didn’t tell me that much until after the feeling had passed. Then he went to bed.

He sent me an email since he couldn’t reach me on facebook. I’m a good person, he trusts me more than most, he appreciates the space, he says I’m a good friend. FRIEND. FRIEND. FRIEND. He appreciates that I’m not like most people who take what they want from him and then disappear. I’m a good friend. He values everything I’ve done and been for him. I’m a good friend.

Fuck. You.

Don’t you get it, MTIA? I love you. Just as you are, the good with the bad.

And again, I am not enough. I…


… have no words for a broken heart.

This is the letter I wrote to him last night. I had planned on reading it to him over the phone when we could next talk and/or when it seemed most appropriate when he was finally feeling a little more sane. It was handwritten. I’m going to burn it. Of course, it will still be here, but I’ll forget about it eventually. Symbolically, at least, I have to burn the original.

Dear MTIA,

I feel like I need to preface this letter with a warning: I’m not a good letter writer. You’ve borne witness to stupid notes I scrawl in cards and in late night Facebook messages. So, you know, FYI, I’m sorry for whatever bullshit I’m about to spew forth. After all, (line redacted for privacy.) So why shouldn’t I? So there.

Really, I don’t know what I’m about to say. I just am following the compulsion to write to you.

I know you’re hurting. (God I really hope I don’t project every last one of my issues, emotions, desires, and fears onto you. I’ll be really quite embarrassed. And don’t jude any misspellings. Please.) It’s okay to hurt, and it’s okay to show me that you are hurting. I want to be there for you as you have been for me. I want you to be smarter and less pig-headed than I have been about the support and care being offered. I’m not going anywhere.

I don’t think we’ve ever really discussed any personal demons we might each have. No, that’s not true. Some, we have. But I think, based on some of our discussions and on my own life experience, that we both have some pretty seriously fucked up (at least by the status quo’s standard) skeletons in our respective closets. I… well, I know I am not normal. I know you know this. I know you feel the same. I don’t really understand who I am anymore. I’m trying to figure it out, though.

And I think, and God, maybe I’m wrong, but I think that you GET me. And that I get you. You make sense to me in a way that I can’t possibly articulate. Maybe neither of us will really ever be “okay,” but I’m starting to think that maybe THAT is okay. Um… hmm… The Movie Secretary comes to mind.

Here’s the think. Whatever fucked up abomination I am to the status quo, and for whatever little I seem to know about who I really am, I don’t care about it when I’m spending time with you. When I’m with you, the world is finally the way it’s SUPPOSED to be. I make a little more sense to myself. I don’t feel like I have to hide behind pretense so deeply that I can’t tell truth from fiction anymore. When we’re together, I am proud to be whomever the hell it is I am.

You say I am too kind to you, but how can that be true? You can read me, read my body language like Scout reads Boo’s at the end of To Kill a Mockingbird. I couldn’t dream of being able to say I’ve learned as much about you, and not because you haven’t tried to show me. MTIA, you are an absolutely amazing person, and I’ve only just begun to know you. I suspect you’d tell me that if I knew you better, I wouldn’t think so. I have to disagree, naturally.

Sometimes… I feel like we are the same person. (And now, yeah, go ahead and call me batshit insane.) It’s not about how we look or act, or even about any mutual interests. It’s something for more fundamental about who we each are as individuals. 

That’s crazy, since I can’t even explain who I am for myself. It’s faulty logic to say that because I make sense to myself when I am with you and because I GET you that we must be the same person. And it’s sort of shitty and egotistical of me to compare myself to you. I think you’re awesome. What the hell am I? Deep down, the tiny, quiet part of me is screaming, “Twig! You know you are awesome!” But I don’t know how to listen to that voice. I so often feel like I see the same thing in you. Again, if I’m projecting, just stop here. Stop reading. Send me a text. Say “Fin” in it. I will walk away. I would need to do that. But if I’m right…

If maybe…
Hear me out.

Listen to “True Adult.” Please. 

I will not break your heart. I will not lie to you. I will not try to change you, unless you ask for my support and help in something you wish to change for yourself. I will hold you when you are sad, when shit is unfair, when you feel like you can’t survive another day. I will be proud of who you are, and I will remind you to be proud of yourself, too, when you forget. I’ll tell you it’s okay that everything isn’t okay. “Entropy,” I’ll tell you, and we’ll have a good laugh. I will never betray your trust, and I will put my faith and trust in you, as well. Everything but the last part is easy. After years of learned experience, I do believe I am worthless, or that I am only good for something when no one else can provide; I am simply not worth loving. I want to be, or to believe, at least, that I am. I want to believe I’m worth more than being cheated on, hit, verbally abused, stolen from, or otherwise used. I pray that you already know you are worth loving. But if you don’t, we can’t find it out together.

We will never be perfect.

We may not make sense to a lot of the people we encounter. Will will likely fuck a few things up along the way, but whatever. My friend once said something about her partner that has always stuck with me as an important point: He may do things that make her sad or mad, but he will never do the things that would break her heart.

I’m asking you to put your trust in me. I’m asking that you let me kind to you simply because I choose YOU to be kind to. I will try to do the same.

I’m going to stop here, because I feel very foolish right now. This is either the most mortifying letter I’ve ever written or the most important one. Done.


I want to go back and read the email he sent, but I know I’ll start to cry.

I’m sad. I got sucked down into his Scorpio darkness and insanity, and it hurts badly right now. (Who am I kidding? I’ve always been as crazy as I’ve felt the last month or so.) I wanted him to be who I’ve been searching for. Instead, I am not what he or anyone needs.

TLTL made it back in time to watch sports, so we did that and then watched some comedy. I curled up on him a couple of times, rubbed his shoulders, but I did not kiss him. And, as previously stated, I did not sleep with him. I did not slip and say I love him.

When I got the email from MTIA on my phone, he immediately knew something was wrong. I wouldn’t talk about it.

During the day together, about 8 hours all told, I would say at LEAST 40% of our time was spent with him texting, reading articles, updating, facebook, and feeding his newfound Twitter addiction as his fame grows. And yet, he tells me he’s had a really good time. Good time ignoring me? Not watching the game most of the time, even? He spent most of the time at dinner playing on his phone, too.

This all sort of really sucks.


From → fiction, rants

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