Melodramatic

I've always run hot or cold, I think its in my blood. I believe in fate and karma and cry when others cry. I laugh a lot, even when its not entirely appropriate. I feel weak in the knees when I'm in love and believe my heart can really stop beating if wounded deep enough. I have always been like this. You knew that when you met me, you told me so. You called me "melodramatic" and said it with endearment. You said you loved how deep and passionate I was. You said I made you feel things you've never felt. Your normal apathy disappeared with me... you felt...something (which was abnormal for you), you told me that...so many times, you told me that. I am passionate, funny, silly, caring, curious, inspired...melodramatic... but at least I allow myself to feel.

You have always been apathetic, cold and distant. You deal with people mechanically and think your way out of feeling anything. You abhor emotions and intimacy, and you convince yourself that to feel is to be weak. You'll have no part of that... no displays of weakness, no being vulnerable. You are a self-control freak unable to allow yourself to care. You told me that. You also told me I would never see that side because I was different. You told me that so often. I was your favorite person. You told me that many times a day. You did not know why... but with me, things were different. You were different with me than with anyone else in your life,,,ever,,,or so you said.

Why did I believe that? Why did I believe that you'd change your natural inclinations for me? Why did I believe you needed "someone like me"... besides the fact you told me? Because I wanted to, I guess. Silly me. Stupid me.

Now I'm devastated and you are off the hook. I do not have that "apathy" switch which you often described to me... and now I'm gasping for self-esteem, acceptance... assurance that I am going to survive this... that I am worthy of life or happiness. I am struggling to understand the reasoning behing all of this. What part of my fate does this cement?

I know that I did not pretend to be anything other than I am. I know that the qualities, the traits you so adored and admired in me, are the same ones you chastised me for in the end. I know that you begged me to believe in you, showed me who you wanted to be not who you were. You force-fed me a better-version of you... and I swallowed it all. Now I'm left to regurgitate all of this without you.

You are free of pain. Free of care. Free of responsibility. I am left to deal with it. Fuck you for being the way you said you'd never be with me and fuck me for not believing you when you told me who you were, even if it came with empty promises of being different with me... I believed in you, Because that is my nature. You knew that and took advantage of it. You used me against me.

And now I'm left with a life full of ridiculous consolation prizes of melancholy, self-hatred and despair... and you are incapable of comforting or consoling me because you are dead, but haven't you always been inside?

--by oniongirl, Lost, 10/21/2006