You,
I don't know how to tell you this, but you're not the only one who feels things. Listen, it'd be easier if I were a woman, I guess; I mean, you guys get to cry and carry on all the time anyway. It's all that 'weaker sex' bullshit they keep telling us to believe.
I have to hand it to you, you're not weak. I think I made a mistake in overprotecting your feelings because frankly, you scare the piss out of me with your stolid, icy way of dealing with all things weird.
I mean, who else could be you and still be, well-adjusted?
I don't know and the more I think about why I'm upset and the more I think about why I shouldn't be is making this letter just another psychotic rambling I need to drink myself under.
This piece of paper is going right into the garbage when I'm done.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I still want to talk to you and write to you, but I'm past being able to say "I'm sorry" all the time and I'm well past being able to deal with my guilt over it. I've numbed it down a little and I think I could function as your acquaintance once and awhile.
Maybe not.
You have every right to be angry with me over this. You have every right to be right and to die on that mountain of right and yet, I keep hoping you won't.
I hate that you're right.
I hate that you were right.
And I hate that you will probably prove me wrong again.
You're some kind of pent up, emotionally bound up martyr and I'm sick of that. When's the top going to blow, really? How much longer are we all going to wait on your public catastrophe?
Not enough fuel yet?
Smarter, more productive women owned up to 'bitch' a long time ago and honestly, I think they're happier than you are.
Yes, I said that. I wrote it. I meant it.
Try on a bad day for size. Crumple that up with a little pissed off, a little wound up rage, and fire.
See where that gets you.
I'd like to drink a beer with you and discuss this fatal flaw sometime, but I'm pretty certain you'd be unavailable for counsel. I've pushed you pretty far off and you'd be a glutton for hurt if you actually took me up on it.
You've started to not return my calls already.
Dammit. I thought you'd do that to everyone, but me.
I'm just saying to be you. And I know what you're gonna say 'this is me, this is who I am,' but we both know how angry you are and we both know how hurt you've been and you keep throwing yourself on some proverbial sword to save face.
Who cares about your face?
Guess I'm offering myself up.
Throw the first punch.
I'm ready.
N.
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