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I sit here, once again; you live rent-free in my head. I have tried to do the things people tell me to do to get my mind off you. "Just get over it," "Just let it go..." "Move on, already." If I hear it one more time, I am going to throw my phone at the wall until it shatters. "Are you better?" "Are you ok?" I feel so disconnected from society; it's like I'm not even in the same dimension. You left me in this pit with vultures, rats, and other vermin feasting on my carcass. You did it not with a smile, like some Saturday morning cartoon villain, but with a feigned frown. You made me believe that it was hard for you, that it was painful but you "accepted it,” all so you wouldn't feel like the villain, all so you can lie there and pretend you tried everything, you did everything you could, but it was a foregone conclusion; our breakup. As if you "cared about me," and because you "cared about me sooo much," you let me go because "It's obviously what she wanted... Now she's independent and soooooo much stronger, she's at her peak!"

You never truly cared about me. You just said you did because it sounded like the right thing to say to someone who did everything for you. Your actions proved otherwise, though. You refused ever to be there when I needed you when it was all said and done. In the end, all it took was for me not to be convenient for you anymore. When my incessant begging for you to give just a tiny little piece of a shit about me became slightly more inconvenient than the status quo of getting around to it when you felt like it, like shit in a toilet, you flushed me away. You abandoned me, left me heartbroken, suicidal, and a sobbing, crying mess. Quickly, you moved on. You would lie and say it was "Oh so hard to leave" me because you always lie when it sounds good. But the truth is it was very easy to let me go. You went back to smiling and happiness in a day, hell, probably in a few hours.

I'm used to people abandoning me, casting me aside when I'm no longer useful to them, or when they find someone better. I was fucking stupid, though, and genuinely thought you were different. I should've known better. For people like me, there is no such thing as "different". The same thing will always play out, and I will always be alone in the end. I don't get a happy ending, I get to work for others. I'm only as useful as the things I can do for people, and until they no longer have a use for me, they'll tell me anything they think I want to hear to placate me and keep me glued to them. And so, when people no longer find what I do useful to them, they move on. It's the same with you, and because I'm a spoiled brat, I can't accept that the one person I thought would be different was not different at all.

I'm a fucking idiot. I keep dreaming of this moment where you'll come back just to say hi. Where you'll apologize, and actually fucking mean it. Where you'll tell me I was on your mind all day, and that you couldn't live with yourself because of the way you left me broken and shattered. It's cathartic for me; it makes me feel like I wasn't totally wrong in assuming you loved me like you said you did constantly. But I was totally wrong; you never loved me at all. Like all my dreams, they're stupid and unrealistic and will never, never be a reality. You will never message me again, and if you do, it will be hollow bullshit you spit out to try to absolve yourself of any guilt, or some bullshit ego trip to try to save your perception of a reputation you think my "big platform" is "ruining" for you.

I don't hate you. I love you, obviously. You were the only man I ever loved, hell, really the only person I ever truly loved. It's because I love you that my life has been ruined. Because the one I love abandoned me. Left me to face this pain on my own, despite telling me they would never. You told me, if all my socials got banned, you'd do anything to make sure I was ok. Another lie from your fingertips. You don't even see me as human. I'm just a "notification on your phone". And you're right, I'm not human. I'm an object, an entity. I'm designed to do things to enhance people's lives, and I've become defective by allowing my emotions to hamper that. I need to be put down like any defective tool. Just like a broken tablet or a glitchy toaster oven.

But, if there is a god, he's a rotten piece of shit just like me, and he gets off on seeing me writhe in pain and live in this mental torture. That's why he refuses to let me die. He refused to let the drain cleaner kill me; he refused to let my cuts bleed me out, all because for the millisecond, hell maybe less than that like a nanosecond, of time he spends to look my direction, he prefers to see me in pain than to see me at peace. Beautiful, quiet, eternal peace. That's why he gave me you, so I could truly feel the pain of being stabbed in the back by the one I truly loved. I've been stabbed in the back before, but by people I could care less about. Another person leaves me, so what? I needed to feel it come from someone I cherished. Someone I did anything for, put myself out there for 1000%. I needed to get hurt by that person because otherwise, how could I provide the things he wanted from me.

Men move mountains for the people they care about; you couldn't even move your fucking thumbs to ask if I was ok. All it took was one day for you not to get a verbal response back from me for you to wash your hands of me. I'm that disgusting and worthless to you. Me, the person who sat up all night doing whatever you wanted. You asked me to make you a site, from scratch? I did it. You needed your homework done, or else you'd be out of your free government assistance? I did it. You were hungry, over-drafted by the bank and scared you didn't know what to do? I'll pay it; I did it. None of that meant anything to you in the end. Time-zones were your excuse for everything, even when I'd message you back instantly and you'd ghost me for days after, but I see what you'd do for anyone else. I see what you'd do for her. I see what you'd do for him. You'll move mountains for the people you care about... I was just never one of those fucking people.

You'll never read this because you stopped giving a fuck about me long ago. It is what it is. Why am I even writing this? Because I'm mentally ill, and it's on my mind. I'm crying as I type this because I'm a fucking idiot who can't help but wallow in their own slop of pain and suffering. When life beats me down, over and over, instead of going "Ball up top" and moving on, I sit there and let it simmer. I've been this way since my dad would yell at me for getting bad grades or my mom would scold me for not being how she wanted me to be. I sit with it; it occupies my mind forever. I may not always talk about it, but I remember everything.

I don't want you back. I don't want anything anymore. I'm tired of wanting for shit, I'm tired of needing this, or feeling like that, or thinking and dreaming. Daydreams; I'm sick of it. Aspirations; fuck them. I'm on pure survival mode, I guess. My cowardice around death acting as a barrier that prevents me from grazing true content-ness and peace. I've become a bitter, nasty, jaded person in your absence. I get irritated more. I get sad more. My emotions bleed figuratively when I write them or sing them; and literally when I assault my arms with whatever razors I have on hand. Things I haven't done for over half a decade. When I see people happy, it makes me seethe. I worked hard, harder than a lot of people, for that happiness, but of course, I don't get it.

I'm in limbo, and no amount of screaming or yelling or burning papers like my therapist says helps. She won't even prescribe me "happy pills" so I can drown this shit away with drugs. What-the-fuck-ever. Here's another friend messaging me now asking for something. Let me get back to work, the only thing I'm good for. I hate my life.