Open Letter to ‘X’.

*Rant – very bad language*

 

 

To X,

 

I’m sorry for caring. I’m sorry for giving a damn. I’m sorry for worrying what the hell happens to you. I’m sorry for speaking my truth. I’m sorry I’ve yet again done the wrong thing. Now I have to pick up the pieces on my own.

 

You’ve taught me it’s wrong to care. So you know what, I don’t now. I don’t give a fuck what happens to you. I don’t want to speak to you ever again. I was going to talk to someone about all this, but now I’m not. Now there’s nothing to talk about. I fucking hate you right now.

 

You just don’t get it do you…. you’re akin to my ‘FP’…. how you interact with me has such an impact on my mental health and recovery. That last message minimised what I’m experiencing. It also told me it was wrong to say anything to you at all. So I never will again. I won’t even acknowledge you. For all you know I’ll be dead. I fucking well want to be right now.

 

At every turn you make me feel like shit for feeling how I do. I guess maybe you thought this distance from you would cure me of my feelings towards you….. it doesn’t work like that. But right at this minute I don’t feel feelings for you anymore. Not positive ones anyway.

 

Everything is black. There is no hope. There is no point to anything. Any efforts I’ve been making to keep going are fucked. I don’t give a damn about recovery now. I don’t give a damn about the help you’ve devised. I don’t give a damn about you. I’ve gone from caring and worrying so damn much, that I was in tears for how much I missed you and feared for your safety and wellbeing, to now being unable to breathe through my nose, or stop hurting myself, for simply the words ‘….to someone else in the future’. You made me feel shit for being a fucking human. Fine, you don’t want to know how I feel, then fine, you never will again. You’ll never see me or hear from me ever again. I didn’t think I’d fucking survive this anyway. You clearly don’t want me to. It’s clear you’re sick of me, even with all this distance I’m too much. So fine. I’m done. I give up on recovery. I give up on caring. I give up on worrying about you. I give up on everything.

 

I shouldn’t have said what I did. I realised after I said it. But thanks so much for handling it so kindly. This was a hard enough situation before the lockdown, when it just intensified, as this fucking Coronavirus shit is also a hard enough situation itself, and now both are even worse thanks to you. I hate you. You and your lot have no idea how this separation would feel for someone in my position. Mental health ‘experts’ have no fucking clue about this sort of thing. Someone should’ve known what this would do to me. But you’re all just glad I’m out of your hair for a bit aren’t you….. probably hope I die, then I’ll never bother any of you again. This is how you make me feel.

 

I didn’t need you to care about or worry about me too. I was just expressing what I’m struggling with, and wishing you well. But I’m obviously a fucking awful person for doing that. I won’t fucking talk to anyone ever again. Anything I do is always wrong. I’m so sick of being me. Hideous, disgusting, pathetic me.

 

Goodbye X. I’m sorry I was such a nuisance to you. You’re free of me now.

 

‘Kind regards’

 

Lily