How did I do this to myself again
How did I let myself fall into this again?
And why am I still sitting in this bar, waiting for you to look at me and say you want to go home.
I’m listening to your friend’s girlfriend talk about poetry and how classical music is more legitimate than others and speak of her nihilism so that you don’t have to deal. She’s talking to me about her art as if it means anything that she only writes in moleskins so you can play your goddamn pool game and I’m just sitting here like.
The fuck is wrong with me.
Because I want to leave. I want to leave and go home and remember what it feels like to cry.
What the fuck have you done to me.
I felt better when I was around you. I felt whole, I felt like a better, calmer, more fun, more relaxed version of myself
But today I feel like I’m trapped in the spin cycle of a washer
Wrung out like a rag, twisted and misshapen
You asked me
I don’t understand how I’m not hurting you
But right now, you are.
I feel like hell.
And I did this to myself
And I’m doing this to myself the longer I stay
The longer I let myself remain in this place where I am just inherently unhappy
You didn’t want me here
I can see that
Can you tell me to go home?
Give me something to do other than chaperone for the people you don’t like
Telling me to order your drinks, watch your shit, take your photos
Why can’t I walk out the door
Why can’t I leave without saying goodbye
Make you see I am the farthest fucking thing from okay
How is it your friends know more about my life than you do
People I adore, who will be gone the second I develop the self-respect to say no, I deserve more
It is so inherently fucked
That you told me you hate yourself
So you don’t want to commit yourself to me
And I hate myself so much
But I just want to commit myself to you
I don’t want to hate myself
I just want you to talk to me like a fucking human being
And that one thing I’d asked you for
To tell me when you’re done
To tell me if you’re leaving me for someone you loved
You can’t do.
So now, I sit here, rereading through these words, remembering my drunken self writing them and wishing they were more melodramatic than they were
But this is the truth
I thought I could handle your heartbreak and I can’t
I hate how much I want you
I want to be stronger, and I’m not.
You told me you would hurt me, and you have.
Are you happy you know that now?