I’m the bad guy

When shit makes sense. Shit makes sense.

For so long I’ve felt this deep unending injustice after the way my ex acted and treated me. It rolled around in my mind, screaming how unfair it all was. I wanted to be with him, I wasn’t because he fucked it up. I had my role, but essentially his actions fucked us up. Instead of listening to me, he ignored me, I then of course became very depressed and in my own mind, I ruined our relationship because I was depressed and anxious. But I told him what I needed and what hurt me. It was a slow decline, so slow I didn’t notice it, but it happened, he ignored me bit by bit. It tore at me more and more. I’ve shredded myself to pieces over this, agonised over my actions and most importantly inactions. He came back, by doing something terrible. Then continued with action after action that didn’t make sense, after all he said, he loved me..

When he came back, through another serious of painful actions, I was so in drought of him, that I pretty much launched myself at him. Some unconscious opinion that after all this drama, tension, hate, sadness, depression, I still feel this love? But how could I, after all he did? I was torn instantly.

I didn’t want to be seen out.

I didn’t want him to call me love or babe.

I didn’t want him to hold me.

I didn’t want him to tell me he loved me.

I didn’t want to because I secretly I wanted him back. So fucking badly. I missed him. I shouldn’t. I should hate him. After the whole ordeal. I chose to leave, because I felt unloved. Here he is, I find myself in an impossible situation. I want the man I should want to run from. The one that put restricted rules on me, didn’t understand me, tore me to shreds, didn’t listen and most importantly told me how I should be loved. But then the other side, is how much I know he cared, what he would do when I was broken, how much we’d laugh, how much he understood me and most importantly the way I felt when I touched him. It was a balm. I hated it when I was conflicted and I hate it even more that he’d hurt me.

He left me like the all the rest did.

I know I can’t do this. I know I can’t put all of the pain from everyone else on him. But I told him all of it. He saw things I never let anyone to see. I told him things I’d never tell anyone. He was the one I thought I’d be with. But then he ignored me, left me, and disregarded me. I was second best to everything. He was too busy for me. He did what happened to me the last time, what I was afraid of putting the effort in, to be left with nothing in return. I put the effort in and he didn’t. I loved him. I didn’t feel it from him, he just kept saying he did. I should accept how he’s done it. He told me. That’s enough.

I just wanted to feel loved the way I chose.

I know I’m not perfect. I’m lucky to feel love in the first place. I felt lucky for him. Graced even by his presence. But surely the love I pour into him, the love he tells me that he feels, I should feel? I say what I want, he tells me,

“I’m easy, nothing like his last girlfriend”

I tell him ” No really, I’m high maintenance, I know”

Because I know, I need follow through. I need love and affection. I need attention. A sunflower, independent of growing in the immediate distance of someone, but completely necessary of love, affection and attention. Don’t believe me? Look at Harlow’s monkey experiment, or Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. I am not professing to be different, just in high need of these things. I explain and describe this. I know the consequence of what occurs if they don’t. I turn into where I was my most protected, in my teenage years. The rebellious, I don’t give a fuck to ruin it, stage. Drinking through the pain and ignoring the consequences. Trying anything to ignore the depth of pain that covers my skin, stabs my chest with intensity and holds my breathing with severity. I hate it. This crushing pain of abandonment, pain, unjustness, and feeling unloved. They walked away once. They’ll walk away again. They’ll blame me and ignore everyone they did to begin with. They’ll do this like they always do.

I couldn’t just singularly point him out there. Because the feeling was so familiar. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt injustice. Like somone’s hurt me, left me and they’ve been fine to come back and pick up where they left off. How dare they? How dare they come back and just ignore what they left? How is that fair?

How can they just leave? How is that because I reacted to their shit behaviour, that never got reprimanded EVER, I’m the one that gets punished? How is that? They hurt me and leave. I react, not even in an attack, just to show them they don’t have control over me, and then fuck, back they come and I’m THE ONE THAT’S FUCKED UP?

How is that fair in any fucking scenario?

What the fuck?

That’s not justice.

We both admit our wrong.

We both find a solution and talk.

You don’t get to hurt me so many fucking times over and over and over. To have me do something shit to you then to say it doesn’t matter. No, we are both in the wrong. we both work to fix this shit. Blaming me and expecting me to beg after the fucked up thing you never even fixed, is not something I’ll do. Working out a plan to both better ourselves and acknowledge the pain on both sides? That is fair. I had a fucking years worth of non stop bullshit that built and exploded in my face in the breakup. I hate myself for how my mental health took over and I was too depressed to save us. You did so much shit that was constantly fucked up, and never owned it or made up for it. Then the first opportunity to blame me for the fault and demise of our relationship, you take it. You blame me for it all. Telling me your free from all culpability. I still maintain what I did was wrong, you maintain you are clear of any guilt. I am all in the wrong. I tell you again I don’t deserve the shit you did. I don’t deserve to be yelled at as I’m sobbing on the floor. You tell me I do. I betrayed you. How could I. I tell you, again, we can talk, I don’t deserve to be treated like this and name called. You tell me I do. You have nothing to be blamed for.

We go over and over. I boil under the pressure. Feel the stems of my brain cells become cooked. I lose control. I message. I don’t message. I blame. I don’t blame. I take responsibility. I blame him.

He blames me. He blames me. He blames me.

He say’s I’m a burden. He say’s I need help. He tells me to grow up. He says this is why I’m too much for my friend. Me calls me dramatic. I agree with him. He keeps going saying how I’ve ruined this. I tell him again. I just want him to accept his responsibility, I’ll do the same.

It’s too late.

I’m the bad guy.

I’ve been casted and branded.

Too late to clear my name. I’m the bad guy.

My lines have been written. I’ve been condemned.

I’m the bad guy.

I keep pleading my case, they ignore the denials.

He’s the judge, jury executioner. I’ve been condemned.

I’m the bad guy.