Being honest with yourself is the most difficult thing to do. I ended up puking my guts out and shaking so badly. My knees buckled. I couldn’t sleep. And that was pure bullshit. Because I kept on denying and denying and denying what I feel. When in fact, it’s stamped across my face. And I just didn’t want to acknowledge it because that, my friends, is my defense mechanism. Because in being honest with myself, I would be the one at the losing end. And yes, I actually am.
Being bothered to the point where I felt queasy and nauseous and I had to vomit? That’s the first time that happened to me. I can’t remember a time, or a moment, when I just had to sit down and think and lie down and try to sleep and feel my tummy roll and shit and puke because of what I just realized. It took me how many months to realize that one thing, and weeks about the other. All involving you (you gave me a few of my first times. I really hope you were sincere in saying that you felt honored about the other ones).
I puked my guts out. I wasn’t even drunk or anything. I just had to because it was so uncomfortable. I still feel uncomfortable. And do you even know what I’m going through? No. Do you even go through what I’m going through? No.
It’s just that the sad thing about this kind of “bothered” is I’m the only one bothered. While, you, the person who is in my head can sleep, have fun, and does not even think about me. You’re probably up now and on your way to training. But God, I am bothered. Really, really bothered.
I thought I just wanted a day of experiencing you. I thought it would be enough. I was wrong. I keep wondering do you even think about me, do you feel guilty, do you have regrets. I just want to sleep, damn it. Sleepless nights since we did what would happen inevitably, only it happened sooner than what I expected. I actually wasn’t even expecting that to happen. But I had to fucking push you on the edge. Why did I do that. And God, I remember when you just stared at me like I’m really a beautiful person. And I hate that. I swear what got me into this mess was when you put my glasses on me, touched my chin, and said, “You’re beautiful.” You were a fucking gentleman. And I was the skank.
You’re happy with her. I get it. And I’m genuinely happy that you’re okay, you and her. You have a cool relationship. One that I want. Because, for the most part, you are half of that relationship. Please don’t tell her about what transpired between us because it would crush us both.
And now, I’ve been honest with myself. It’s still sinking in. I’m still trying to digest what I just realized. I don’t know when I will come to terms with that. But God, please, be kind to me. My cousin told me, “It’s like you made a bet with yourself and you lost.” and from the start I already knew I would lose. And I really am baffled, confused, exasperated, because I know this is impossible. But it’s there. I’m sorry.
Seriously hating myself right now. So, it appears that you’re really one of the reasons why my ex and I broke up and why I wouldn’t take him back. When he suggested it, I thought it absurd. But there you go.
Shit really happens and I can’t take it that it has to happen with you. You don’t have to know this. And I’m planning not to tell you. This is goodbye. I know, dramatic. But we’ve known that since we first talked. You shouldn’t have been nice to me. I’m really sorry.