Yet another night I’m sat in tears over you. I guess I should want to sleep, as that’s the only way I will ever see you again. I’m heartbroken that I didn’t even really get to say goodbye to you. I wasn’t mentally present. I don’t know if you wished us well, said goodbye or what. I didn’t even say thank you.
I wish so much that I could’ve been given the opportunity to sit down with you, once the course was finished, and just be allowed to talk about the elephant in the room…. to finally express how I felt, and perhaps find some level of healing. In a perfect world I would’ve been allowed that closure. I would’ve been able to say anything I needed to, and I would’ve had validation, that it’s okay to feel how I do, it’s a positive, and you might say that you hope I’ll find someone to share these feelings with… that I don’t need to be ashamed… and that there is hope… there are good men out there.
This could’ve been your opportunity to fix all the broken parts of me, all the fucked up beliefs I have… you could’ve played a huge part in my healing, but now it feels like you’re a part of the damage. I wasn’t given the space to express myself. I wasn’t given closure. I could’ve done with you checking that I’d be okay after the last session…. that I’d be safe… you had the knowledge that I felt unsafe about losing you… you knew that. So why didn’t you care what might happen to me when I walked out the door?
I know throughout the course you couldn’t help me, it wasn’t your job. That’s why I held onto it all, to speak to my therapist about it at the end. But she did fuck all to help me. I feel you’ve all abandoned me with it. This massive horrible, heart-wrenching experience and it’s like none of you want to know.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I came along and delivered a problem to your door – something none of you were prepared for. I’m sorry I’m that person. That one who fucks everything up. I’m sorry I ever said anything. I wish I hadn’t. This has only reaffirmed the belief that I just should not open my mouth ever. I should suffer in silence. None of you have made me feel it’s a good thing I opened up about it, so I can only assume it wasn’t.
You probably think I saw my therapist and she helped me and I’m okay now. You’re probably not concerned about how I am. But you lot failed me. And now I’ve been sent out into the world to cope with it on my own. You all washed your hands of me. You’re free. But I’m suffering, because of the way you handled this.
And to be honest, those feelings paired with the feelings I have for you, and the loss of you, are making me consider the bridge again. I’m so sick and so tired of feeling how I do tonight… and I feel it most days at the moment. I feel such an overpowering sense of love towards you, that I know isn’t ‘real’ but it fucking feels like it right now. I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of forever without you. I don’t want to do ‘forever’ if that’s the case. I just feel if I could’ve had one conversation with you afterwards, it might have cleared things in my head, and allowed me to move on. But just like with everyone else from my past, you didn’t allow me that closure. So now I’m stuck in a place of love, loss, and abandonment.
You know, here I am thinking about jumping off a bridge, and here you guys are leaving me with this huge problem to solve on my own – which effectively feels like you’re throwing me off the bridge, or at least giving me a push. Therapy is supposed to help you, and make you feel safe. I’m more of a danger to myself now than before therapy.
I just want you to know you could’ve done more to help me. I would’ve really appreciated it. You might’ve freed me from my past, but now I’m firmly rooted in it. Now my heart is violently ripped open and won’t stop bleeding, and I don’t know what to do. I just want the pain to stop. I want to not love you. I want to not miss you. I want to not lose you. But I do, I do, and I have. And nothing can change that. I just wish you had helped me when you had the chance.