I doubt anyone reads this old thing anymore, but, I’m not dead. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I last wrote to you. However long, it feels like it’s been an age. It’s good. A lot has changed, and happened. For one thing, I’m now stable. Not always happy, true, but – ah, stable.
I don’t hate myself. I just don’t. I’ve tried to contrive reasons, but, I just don’t hate myself. Because I’m better than that. I’ve channeled that energy into improving, and pretty much everything has improved. I look better, I am stronger, I’m employed somewhere brilliant, I am happy. Things are going well for me, and I’ve worked for it. This is good. This, this is damn good.
Having said that, there are obviously things I’m still working on, tinkering with. Projects. Parts of myself I need to try to work on and build up skill in. I’m reading an awful lot more, pretty voraciously, really. I’m playing guitar more and reaping the improvements from it. I’m getting better at trusting myself. That isn’t, of course, to say that I don’t make mistakes. I am still absolutely making mistakes. I fuck up things pretty regularly, but I’m taking the rough with the smooth.
This next part of this post, though easily read by anyone, will only really hold significance to one person.
I’m not angry at you. You did a lot of things that really, seriously hurt me an fucked me up. The suicide stuff, for one thing. In the end, I felt manipulated and toyed with and just very, very hurt. But I realise you probably didn’t mean it. You’re not evil. It was just a mistake. I don’t think I love you anymore. I don’t think so, anyway. If last time proved anything, it’s that we really don’t know each other as well as we initially presumed. I think part of it, perhaps, is that I don’t conflate you as being someone that’s going to take away my unhappiness. Clearly that didn’t work out so well, as last time you did, in fairness, make me more miserable than I had felt in years. Especially the way you ended it. In anger, detached, not face to face. All the things I disliked, all the things that hurt me time and again.
But equally, I don’t hate you. If you’re still angry, I doubt you’ll care – you’re ego will likely feel bruised, but, if you’re reading this, here, then maybe you’d like to know: I forgive you. If you want, I’m open to talking. Not dating, but, talking. If you’d want to, get in touch. If not, that’s fine – we’ll just go separate ways, as we do. However, if patterns and trends hold, we do, for better and for worst, find our way back to each other, somehow.
Fair warning though, if we do talk (and this is an if), I want it to be on equal terms. Everything out in the open. My past, my mistakes, your past, your mistakes. Those are my terms. Whether you take me up on this offer, is entirely at your discretion. But I forgive you regardless, and really, sincerely wish you the very best with whatever you are doing or choose to do. Even though there were times when I hated you, in the end -if this is the end- I wish you happiness.
I guess that’s all for now, from the strange boy in a top hat, the raccoon, the bastard you hate, from me.