FS

There was this boy, running fast and angry through the diseased streets of his life. It's instant, I could sense his failure in life, his cowardice to chase his dreams, and my messiah's complex begin to kick in. In full blast, I fought to save him from himself. 

... And then I realized: I was the one who needed saving. Not him. 

He crashed into me. He got burnt, knocking me over and picking me up. Like all relationships, every beginning was a dreamy haze of euphoria. My fingers should shake in the anticipation of his touch, Nothing was more beautiful than our tangled limbs and mingled breath. But our hearts were rotting and our cells were dying and our relationship was stale and our future was bleak. We are nothing, now, more than a collapsed memory shrinking into the oblivion. 

Last night I dreamed. I dream, searching for the man whose eyes I once woke up to, whose lips I kissed good morning and good night and as and just because I felt like it. The man whose jawline I traced with my finger tips, outlining the structure of his bare face. Then I would run my fingertips along his lips as if I was going to shush him, but he'd kiss my little fingers, the softness of his lips made chills run down my spine. I could paint a portrait of him with my eyes closed. My fingers would recognize every dip, every trait, every curve and scar on his body. 

We both tried to work things out, trying so hard to fix what was never broken, but simply altered: me. For him, it was easier to walk away than to fight for what you want. With shaking hands, I let the chemicals to allow each grain of memory, hope, pain and dreams slip between the crevices of my fingers. I hovered between insanity and sanity, drugged up with 5 different medications the doctor prescribed. Slowly they tore apart the fabric of reality, I could no longer differentiate between reality and dreams and the parallel universes. 

Even though now I am absolutely disgusted by his hateful words and immature ways, I find fascination in this repulsion. His arrogance in the fact that I wasn't the first girl to seek a second chance, to salvage the relationship we once had. It inflated his ego, it took away his insecurity. It was revolting, his words, I was amazed at how deceitful and deceptive the world has shaped him into. Or maybe it was merely his nature, to manipulate, to torture. After all, he's a Scorpio --- though I've never really taken horoscopes seriously into consideration, but it makes the diagnosis and explains his actions easily. 

This has once against, taught me how ugly humanity is. How cruel we could be to someone in need of salvation, of solace, of chances to turn over new leaves. How disgustingly untrustworthy all of us are, those promises of "we will work things out" were just words dangling from the corner of his lips to pacify my troubled past. And now, I'll never want him back. He keeps insisting I was the one who messed up, I didn't seek forgiveness in so-called messing up, all I seek was taking responsibility for my actions.

What was the basis for ending our relationship? Because I was honest about my disease, and I slashed myself. Instead of being there for me, he left. I understood, our relationship was at its infancy, he would've been terrified, but seriously, leaving someone when they are most in need of you? It's cowardly and cruel. Even so throughout all that horrid hateful messages I would admit it is my fault for shrouding him with the responsibility of having to handle a messed person that I am. 

I just wish, one day, when I'm well, we would come together again and work things out. Not that he would want to --- because his repulse and disgust for me made friendship an impossible option. But maybe by then when I'm well, I would've already forgotten him. He'd been just another number on my statistics, another notch on my belt. And right now my feelings for him have faded into an oblivion, scarred by hate and disdain. So what am I to do now? Maintain an acquaintanceship? Or completely cut him out of my life? I don't know what to do, and I wish I had someone to tell me what to do. 

Moving on is easy. It has never been a problem for me, looking back at my illustrious dating history and habit of heart breaking, driving them to suicide, I would've destroyed him. I always destroy those I love the most. Maybe he's better off without me, I'm better off without him, because I wouldn't have to kill him slowly, and I wouldn't have to stand his temper and insensitivity. Too many questions I have, left unanswered. 

It has been an exhausting week of recovery. Even sleep brought no solace, lucid dreams of him, of demons, of my own death, of anger, of rage, of anguish, of agony. With those prescription pharmaceutical help, I'm getting better faster than I'd expected. 

Unused to all these happiness, I fear I wouldn't be able to function without this sadness that had enveloped and crippled me in the last six years. This rapid recovery scares me. But I'm fighting the urge to drown in despair, I'm fighting to be happy and function like a normal person. And I WILL BE. I will be so fucking happy. That nothing will bring me down. Like what a good friend always tells me in admiration: you are so strong, you're practically invincible. And yes, I am. I will be. I will live up to her words.