Goodbye.

I've spent a lot of time over the past few months writing letters to you in my head, thinking about all the things I've wanted to say to you, all the words I've longed to unleash like angry fists to beat against your skin and bruise you the way you've bruised me, deep inside, where no one else can see; but when it comes time to put the words down onto paper, they continually fail me.

I think it's because putting it on paper makes it real, somehow. I think it's because I knew that, if I put all in black and white, it would be so much more awful that it was in my head, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to face that realization.

I'm ready now.

I'm ready to tell you the truth; how the entirety of what we were, and what we were not, was all uncharted territory for me; difficult to navigate in itself, but rendered impossible by you and your rules and your temper and your impatience for everything that I, inherently, am. How I'm still not sure that I was ever anything more than just a convenience for you; someone to be there when you wanted to connect with someone, and to so easily ignore when you didn't.

That's not how it works with people, you know.

I realize now that I should have told you that. I still ache from all the bending and twisting it took to fit into the tiny, few-and-far-between compartments of your life, the brief moments that you were actually willing to share with me without anger between us, without frustration and timelines and deadlines and doubt and exhaustion between us, where it was just you and me and it was good. You blamed it on your job. I blame it on your inability - no, your unwillingness- to learn to adequately handle the stress that came with your job. You can't control your circumstances, but you can control how you react to them.

You can control how you treat the people around you, the people who care about you, when you're doing all that reacting.

I took it in stride, then; when you were angry, or stressed, or frustrated, so much more often than not, I would do everything within my power to try to ease your burden, to let you know that there was someone out there who cared. I never wanted to be your everything, but I did, at the very least, want to be your something. Something that made you smile. Something that made you laugh. Something that made your journey through the insanity of life just a tiny bit happier.

It made me feel like such a disappointment when I realized I never would be. It made me feel so small to finally realize that no matter how much I cared, it would never make a difference to you. It made me feel so inadequate to realize that you were so infuriatingly indifferent about the whole thing. God, I would have rather you hated me; at least that would have been some type of emotion. I think that's what hurt the most. Hearing about the beautiful women you knew and how wonderful they were; hearing about all the places you were planning to go and things you were planning to do without me. I wanted to be a part of your life, but it's clear now that there wasn't, and isn't, any room for me there.

And I think, what it really comes down to, is that I am so incredibly angry at myself for not walking away from you a long, long time ago.

I am most certainly not blameless in this situation, but this is not about me. This is about the way you shut me down every time I tried to communicate with you. You got angry at me, simply because I wanted to make sure we were being open and honest with each other. And so it got me thinking, since he obviously wanted out so bad, why didn't he just tell me? If he didn't feel the same way, why wouldn't he just tell me? Why wouldn't he have taken one of the many outs I had offered him? Was it really just about getting what he needed all along? No. He's not that cruel. Is he?

Is he?

And maybe you aren't. I don't want to believe that you could be, because what would that say about my judge of character? Maybe I was the stupid one, for not being able to take a hint, but shame on you for not being the bigger person when I was never anything but clear and honest with how I felt about you and what I wanted for us. Maybe there was something else going on with you that manifested itself in our relationship that I never understood. Whatever the case may be, even as I type this, I am weary of guessing. I am bone tired to the point of exhaustion, and I don't have any more to give you, friendship or otherwise. The only thing that I have left to say to you is this:

I can't. I can't, not anymore. I'm deeply, deeply hurt; after all the excuses I made and all the times I chose to believe the best in you even when you were showing me your very worst, all of it was for nothing. I guess maybe I thought that if I proved to you that you were worth loving, you would believe it, and you would be able to love me back.

Stupid, stupid me.

I waited for you for so long. For too long. You so very clearly never wanted to be with me, and that's okay. What's not okay is you blaming me for going out and dating other people and acting like I did it to spite you; what's not okay is you acting like I was the one who called it off and that I was the one leading YOU on. Fuck you for that. That's completely untrue, and beyond reproach, and you know it as well as I do. I can admit to my faults and mistakes. It's time you learned to admit to yours.

I love you. If I didn't, you wouldn't have been able to hurt me the way that you did, over and over, all this time. I love you, but I love myself more, and it's time to take care of me now. I wish you nothing but the best, and I hope that, someday, you find whatever it is that you're looking for.

Love,
GJ