Toxicity.

I was called "toxic" last night.
I'm sure it's true to an extent, to certain people.
Everyone's toxic to someone.

But the reasons I was called toxic are laughable.
Or rather, what my toxicity caused.

Sure, the "toxic" kid who needed a home is why your mother drinks.
Not the beyond stressful hospital job she has been doing for years.
Not the multitude of death, disease, and illness she's seen,
It's certainly not the daughter who had a drug habit.
Who treats her dementia ridden grandmother like a pest that should be exterminated.
Who has stolen thousands of dollars from her own mother.
Who regularly puts hands on her mother.
Who debased herself on the internet in hopes of getting some extra cash.
Who had her beyond abusive boyfriend live with them, and blamed her friends leaving on her family.
Who bought a dog, never bothered to train him, never bothered to try to introduce him to the other pets, and instead locked all of her cats in her mother's room 24/7.

But yeah, let's say it was the kid who worked most of the time he was there. The kid who let anyone use his car anytime they needed. The kid who brought food to that house at any opportunity he could. The kid who took you EVERYWHERE you needed to go. The kid who trained that dog for you. The kid who did nothing but ensure that everyone knew how much he appreciated that they gave him a home when he needed it.

Was he lazy and selfish most of the time? Sure.
But that home was toxic long before he ever showed up.

The "toxic" kid is the reason his parents fight.
Not because his dad is beyond mentally ill.
Not because his mom is manipulative.
Not because of many other reasons that are none of your damn business, but are between two adults that have been married for 20 years.
And who would do anything for their children.
The parents who hate seeing their child have to leave, because of the toxic home the parents sometimes create.

Maybe I am toxic.

But I sure as shit am not the reason your mother drinks, kiddo.

I wrote this a while ago, but haven't gotten to post it without internet.

Sometimes I like to think
that I'm Mr. Invisible.
Mr. Nobody Knows Who I Am
And that's a comforting thought.
No one knows my volatile thoughts.
The way my mind take me on train rides that I don't
Remember buying tickets for
Does she hate me?
My dad's gonna die today
I'm never gonna make it
Do I hate me?
Of course I do.
No I don't.
You lazy sack of shit
Overthinking after overthinking until I overthink myself right
into the Game Over screen.
I like to think
I'm just on the sidelines
Idly standing by
The ultimate form of
People-watching.
Never making a peep.
But how can I be Mr. Invisible?
When I think of all the waves I've caused
I panic
When I realize how much of a fucking catalyst I am
I panic
When I realize that my whole life goal is to be in the middle of the fucking spotlight
I panic
I don't want to be known.
I don't want to have an affect on people.
I don't want this.
I don't want this.
I don't want this.
I don't want to be the reason that she barely had the energy to get out of bed for 6 months.
I don't want to be the reason that your life has improved so much since we've met those few short months ago.
I don't want to be the reason my dad comes out of his episodes.
I don't want to be.
I want to be invisible.
It's already been made impossible a long time ago.
Two big, seperate portions of my life were combined into one and printed into unerasable words written in ink made of painful memories and spread across the world for $10 a pop.
I never asked for that.
I never asked for part of me to be put on display for people who would never realize it's about some insomniac kid in New Mexico who thinks too much about the past and not enough about the future and never about the present.
This whole damn writing poem thing whatever the fuck it is,
it's the product of a volatile mind with not enough sleep and too much time on his hands at 7:23 am.
"violent mind, violet sky."
if there's one thing she got right,
it's that.
I take comfort in that
She doesn't know me anymore.
And I don't know her.
We're not the same.
And that's good.
We were both pieces of shit.
I wish the best for her, she's gone through a lot of shit and deserves to be happy.
And I hope he provides that for her.
I hope I provide that for you.
You've gone through a lot of shit and deserve to be happy.
I feel like such a selfish fucking cunt when I feel upset.
I know people who have been abused, sent to a damn mental hospital, attempted suicide, COMMITTED suicide, raped, beaten, imprisoned, had their fucking parents murdered in front of them, wake up fucking crying because they had bad dreams of some real fucked up shit
I haven't gone through shit. I've had an easy fucking life and it's fucking bullshit for me to complain about it.
It's bullshit, it's all bullshit.
I'm bullshit.
I just want to be able to say hi to someone
without changing their life.

Isolation creates words.

I try not to keep my thoughts secret anymore.

That's kinda what this blog is for. If I can't speak it, I can write it.

I re-discovered songs that make me thing of my dad and long road trips and the wind and rolled down windows and new car smell dancing in with cigarette smoke with you last night.

You let me read your secret thoughts the other night.

We talked about my aunt who could make the most pissed off waitress laugh by talking about the holes on the top of the salt shaker and could level you with her laugh because you brought up Etta James.

You inadvertently told me that you love me.

We talked about how when Christmas comes around I see a light in my dad's eyes like he's a child in a decaying body.

I didn't flinch.

I thought about how I've never had such a superficial yet still amazingly deep and touching conversation with anyone before.

I'm not sure if you realized it was in there.

I didn't flinch.

But it made me think.

I'm damaged goods as I sit here typing.

There's cracks in my heart and head and maybe that's why all my thoughts and feelings are leaking out.

I haven't decided if this is an improvement.

I haven't figured out if my baggage is a snug backpack full of the essentials or an incredibly heavy and inconvenient carryon of a closet-hoarder that you can barely close the airplane luggage door on.

The word "love" scares me.

Partially because it seems so far away.
Partially because it seems so very near.

I don't know about love right now.
I don't know if I'm capable of that yet.
We'll see though.

Because I know that I care about you something fierce.
I know I like you a lot. Like, scary a lot.
I know that your laugh makes me laugh
Your smile makes me smile
And when you cry it fucking tears me apart.

I don't know if I love you yet.
But I know you mean the world to me.

And I hope you'll stick around long enough for me to figure everything out.

Weiner Dog Tank.

A lot can change in 111 days.

A life can be flipped around in 111 days.

I'm living with my girlfriend and one of my best friends and her mom and gramma and my dog and their dog now.

I'm coming home smelling like pizza.

I've got tickets to a concert in Chula Vista, California.

I've got my own car.

I talked my dad out of killing my mom.

My parents are going to rehab.

My hair's a bit longer now.

I've got a few new tattoos.

You ever have emotional flashbacks?
Like, the emotions you feel during the flashbacks aren't relevant anymore, and you know for a fact you don't feel them anymore.

But when you get hit with a song, or location, or just a familiar sensation, you feel it all again.

I've had those a couple times recently.

They were opportunities to remember the good times but replace my first thought with them from you to her.

I'm gradually replacing you in my mind.

Casually bringing you up in conversation was the first time I thought of you in weeks.

It's 112 days now.

I'll never forget you, that's impossible.

But I don't think about you.

I don't worry about you.

And when I hear My Only Swerving, or eat cajun food, or look at my dog, it's not you they remind me of anymore.

It's falling asleep on my best friend's couch and being so fucking glad that I found sanctuary in this new person who didn't really know me or owe me a god damn thing.

It's going on a spontaneous food adventure with Mason and Kat, and talking about Deadpool and porn the whole time, laughing our asses off.

It's relief that Callie now has a new friend to run around with and play with and teach and expel energy with in this big new yard with her big new friend.

I've got a Weiner Dog Tank on my arm and he's saving me from emotions I don't feel anymore.

After everything,

I feel lighter.

I'm still couch hopping, my parents are still split, I'm still picking up the pieces of a life twice shattered

But without you in it? Without the fear of you blaming me for everything? Without the fear of you hating me? Without worrying if you're okay? Without blaming myself for all the bullshit you put me through?

I feel fucking good.

I'm not carrying the burden of undeserved apologies from me and unreceived apologies from you.
I'm not carrying the burden of a failed relationship. Of someone who did nothing but take me for granted.

And if you're still reading my blog, like you probably are,

Stop.

You don't get to "check in on me" if you want us out of each other's lives. You don't have the right to care. To be concerned.

Deal with your own shit.

Leave me and mine alone.

I'm done. I'm done checking your shit. I'm done worrying about you. I'm done feeling guilty. I'm done feeling sorry. I'm done covering for the fucked up shit you did. I'm done making excuses for you.

You fucked up.

I'm not gonna sprint to your side at the sign of trouble anymore, like I know you'd expect me to. You'll swear up and down that you don't, but I know you fucking do because you think you know me. You think you have me on a string.

You don't.

You don't need a safety net, you said.

And I'm glad, because that shows growth as a person.

And because you won't find one in me.

Goodbye.
Maybe I'll see you again.
Maybe I won't.

I think I did it.

I saw you post a picture of him on your instagram.

And I didn't feel a god damn thing.

Fuck you.

You'd better hope he's dumber than me or the same shit's gonna happen to you.

Nothing's gonna change for you if you keep pulling this shit.

You're not a fucking victim. I'm not the bad guy in your fucking life. It's my turn to tell you to grow up.

You're not gonna grow without a safety net. Not until you hit the ground fucking hard and realize and accept that you fell because you tripped on your own foot.

I had to come to terms with that shit and now you do to.

Take some fucking accountability.

I didn't do shit to you.

Stay out of my head.

"I'm walking away now."

Funny, I thought you already did.

No.

Every fucking time.

Every fucking time I think I'm finally aking a step forward something happens to you. And that's no your fault, no, life happens and it's awful and I'm so glad that you're okay after you rolled your car and I'm sorry that you're losing your apartment. And yes, I mean it when I say "I'm here if you need me."

But every time I start to think about you a little less, you decide to tell me thar something has gone wrong with you.

WHAT DO YOU WANT?
WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?
YOU DON'T OWE IT TO ME TO TELL ME THIS SHIT. I DON'T DESERVE TO KNOW ANYTHING.

You know DAMN FUCKING WELL that telling me you flipped your car or losing your apartment is gonna send me into a fucking panic and no it's not my problem but god damn it you know I don't work that way.

Every fucking time I start to step forward and I start to think that maybe I'm finally over you something sends me into a panic about how I don't know if you're okay and what's going on and how is she gonna blah blah blah blah blah

YOU blocked ME
I STOPPED messaging you. The last message I sent was asking you guys to stop using my Netflix over a month ago.
YOU don't want to be friends.
YOU don't want me in your life.

And that's fine.

But fucking act it.

I don't need to worry about your shit when my life is falling to pieces when I'm still picking up the pieces from the last time.

Make up your mind.
Keep me out of your life, or bring me back in.

But don't play this fucking in the middle game because I don't need this shit.

It's real.

I had my first "official" fight night.

It was totally unsanctioned and unsupervised, but we had our shit together, had our rule set, our refs, our medical equipment, etc.

I fought twice.

The first guy, I've wanted to kick the shit out of for a long time.

I made him tap within the first 45 seconds. Armbar.
I used those 45 seconds to walk him into the corner, land a couple body shots, and he took me to the ground which was his biggest mistake. He had a chance standing up, he has a lot of power. But he has no ground training.

My second fight, I went 3 rounds and it went to decision.
This guy, was probably the only guy I saw as a legitimate threat and challenge to me.
I thoroughly got my ass beat. He landed clean shots directly on my jaw at least 10 times throughout those 9 minutes, but I never even stumbled and kept coming after him. I almost had him submitted a couple times too.
I lost that decision.

I walked out of that with a mild concussion and a fractured middle knuckle on my right hand and got damn was I fucking excited to be dizzy and slurring my words and vomiting because god damn it now it's official.

This is what I want to do with my life. I know for certain now.

This is my dream.

And I'm taking it to the top of the world.

It ain't about how hard you can hit.

It's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward. How much you can take, and keep moving forward.

I'm trying Rocky.

I'm trapped in the corner and my guard is scrumbling

Liver shot
Uppercut
One two
Hook
Straight
I'm getting pummeled and the ref should've stopped the fight by now

But he won't
He got paid off
He's gonna let my opponent beat on me until I'm a smear on the mat

But I can take a punch.

I've spent my whole life taking punches.
From opponents and myself.

And I'll be damned if I don't see my opening and take my shot and beat this heavyweight called life.

I'll take this break-up recovery on the chin. My knees are wobbling but I'm still standing.
This seperation straight to the stomach. The wind's knocked out of me but I'm still standing.
This couch-hopping to the side. My ribs are screaming but I'm still standing.
I'll take this loneliness all 12 rounds. My muscles are aching but I'm still moving forward.

I'm still moving forward.

And if I do fall?
Mickey said it best.
"If you're hurt, and you feel yourself goin' down, a little lady gonna whisper in your ear. She's gonna say, 'GET UP, YOU SONOFABITCH!'"

And I will.

Because I didn't hear no bell.

And I'm not coming home.

I really wanna just

Uproot.

Take off.

Leave.

Go somewhere new. I don't want to be here anymore. But I can't leave yet. People need me here.

And so I stay.

I don't even know where I'd go.

But I suppose that's where the fun is, yeah?

The mystery of it all.

Where am I gonna end up?

What's gonna happen?

I don't know.

But I know one day you'll find me at the top of the world.

Kubler and Ross would be proud.

I've been a walking example of the stages of grief for the last 2 months.

It's been 2 months since my life fell to pieces and I'm still picking them up.
Shock, denial, anger, and bargaining all came quick.

Anger's still here but is starting to fade, finally.

Depression is on and off again.

Just waiting on that acceptance to finally hit.

Opportunity wasted.

I'm sorry we never took those dance classes.

I promise I actually did want to learn for you.

Maybe next time.

I'd invite you with us if I could.

I know you'd love to come.

Back-pedaling.

I'm not quite who I want to be.
But I've come a long way from who I was.

But recently I seem to be going back.
A lot of withheld anger is coming out lately.
My jokes are becoming more agressive.
More mean.
I didn't even realize it until someone pointed it out.

I had the time of my life ripping someone to shreds the other day. Sure, it was a simple comic debate on the internet, but I hadn't had that much fun insulting someone's ignorance in a long time. Primarily because I never really went out of my way to insult someone's ignorance for a long time.

I'm getting mean again.

I don't want to.
I don't want to go back so far when I just started moving forward.

I'm being a lot more conscious of everything I say since it was pointed out to me.

I don't want her to find out who I used to be.
I don't want my old friend to see me go from who I am now back to the person she cut out of her life.
I don't want to hurt people.

I don't want to lose everyone again.

This house don't feel like home.

I've had a lot of serious reality checks lately.

I need to get out of here.

Opening the cellar door.

I just realized and came to terms with a lot of things, and I'm fucking pissed.

You were always so scared of me leaving you for someone else, finding someone better, cheating on you and those fears weren't through any action of my own but from your past experiences, and that was fine. I understood.

I assured you and assured you as many times as you needed to hear it that I would always be faithful to you. I wouldn't leave you for someone else, I would NEVER cheat on you, or anyone for that matter.

And I assumed I coud hold you to those same promises just due to the fear and hurt you had from your past experiences and that was the biggest mistake I had ever made.

I am not a trusting person. I can list off on one hand the people I wholeheartedly trust, and you used to be part of that. I realized you haven't been part of that for quite some time now.

You cheated on me twice.
I assured you hundreds of times over, comforted you, promised you that I woud never fuck you up like that, but you would. A one time mistake, I can forgive, and have, because that was the first time we dated and shit was going downhill fast. It fucked me up but I've forgiven you and him for that.

The second time?

There's no fucking excuse for that.
Not a single fucking one.
You were upset with me because I never surprised you anymore. We had only just gotten back together like a month and a half ago.
So I dropped you a little note. I took out the trash and I'd do the dishes when I got off work.
You asked if I could crash at my parents house that night so that you could have a couple friends over, so I said sure, I'll do the dishes another time.

Guess what you texted me later that night.
"I kissed her."
You know what your excuse was?
My surprise scared you into kissing her. My offer of doing the dishes

Made you cheat on me.

Everything was going great, we were happy.
But you fucked me up AGAIN.
YOU BETRAYED ME TWICE.

And you know what I did?
I was so fucking in love with you that I let it slide, never coming to terms with how much you fucked me up. And that fucked me up worse.

I never occured to me that the reason I started checking your phone constantly was because you had given me reason not to trust you. That you had given me reason to suspect any time you said you'll be home late that you might be cheating on me for a third time.

I HATED myself for having to check your phone. I thought I was being the most unreasonable person in the world because I wanted to trust you but you had made that impossible.

You made me swear up and down, day and night, over and over and over again that I would always be faithful, but you couldn't be bothered.
You didn't care.

And immediately after you fucking cheated on me the second time, that night, when we were talking, you tried to manipuate me into having a "relationship" where I could provide you the emotional coddling you wanted while you went out and fucked anyone you wanted.
Another thing I let slide and buried inside.
So fuck you for all of that.

And the thing that pisses me off the most, is him.
No, not him himself, he's a great guy, and he's probably better for you than me.
But you know what I'm getting at.

One time, when we almost broke up, you told me you were feeling really strongly towards him and if we broke up you'd go right to him.
First of all WHY THE FUCK would you tell me that
WHY THE FUCK would you fuck me up like that
So fuck you for that.

Second of all, when you said you wanted to try and make it work, not when I pushed you to promise me that you'll try, which I did and will own up to, but when YOU said it, When YOU wanted to try, knowing that my trust is fucked with, knowing that I know that you have feelings for this guy, you wanted to keep going, and of course I said yes because I was too fucking blinded to realize anything.

When you wanted to spend time with me (which was never doing anything I wanted to do, by the way), when we were watching YOUR SHOWS, you wouldn't talk to me, you wouldn't watch the fucking show, even.
You would sit there and text him all fucking night and every fucking time I looked up at you to say something and I saw you texting with his name on your phone which was 9 times out of 10 that I looked at you, it fucking ripped me to shreds.

You made me swear up and down, day and night, over and over and over again that I would never leave you for someone else, but you couldn't be bothered.
You didn't care.

Because that's exactly what you fucking did.
You didn't have the mercy to at least end it sooner because I know that you know that you were fucking me up because I know now, looking back at it, the shit I was doing, the checking your phone, the refusing to go to work because you and him would be here without me, the waking you up holding on to you and bawling my eyes out, YOU FUCKING KNEW.
There was no way that you didn't.

I'm fucking angry right now. Everything's coming out.
I opened the cellar door.

But I'm not bitter.
I won't take this out on the next person to come around.
And I don't hate you.
And if you need me, I'll still be there.

But don't fuck him up like you fucked me up.
I'm your mistake.
Learn from me.

5am scrambled ramblings

My brain's really scrambled right now.
I don't know what's going on.
I feel alone, guilty, angry.
I know why I'm guilty.
I'm an asshole.
I should've figured I wasn't ready when she called, told me she rolled her car so that I didn't get any misinformation and immediately went into a panic of how she is how is she gonna handle this she must be freaking out does she need a ride to work? I can do that no you dumbass she doesn't want you in her life you fucking god damn idiot get that through your thick fucking skull stop looking at her instagram stop checking her tumblr yes you're still blocked on facebook get out of her life

I don't know why I feel alone. There's no reason to. I have friends. And I've been making new friends at work. Hell, I just hung out with a fuck ton of friends the other night. It was great.
Why do I feel alone? It doesn't make any sense. I can't make heads or tails of anything.

I'm angry because I'm not your fucking monster. You tried to make me your blame magnet and make me a monster and I should hate you for that, I should be angry about that but that's not what I'm angry about I'm angry that you did that to me, and after all that and some more I'd still move fucking mountains for you. I'm angry because, I don't care if we haven't spoken in 10 minutes or 10 years, I'd still fucking sprint to your side if you needed me because god damn that's who I am. That's what I do.

You always said it and everyone else said and all that past life shit said it.
I'm your fucking shield.
I'm everyone's shield.
I get beat up and I beat myself up because god damn it I don't want to hurt people anymore but that's all I know how to fucking do.

Every fucking person I care about I end up hurting and I don't know how to stop and it's bullshit I want to make someone happy for fucking once without hurting them.

I'm fucking sick of this.
I'm sick of being a walking bad decision.

The inevitable.

I'm scared that my dad's gonna die.
I know he's going to die.
He's dying.
Slowly.
He can die as I'm writing this.
He can die in 20 years.
And I'm not saying that to be facetious and dramatic. As I've said before in some of my other posts, my dad is very sick.
And there is a very real risk of him dropping dead at any moment.
I'm not ready.
I'm not ready.

Every time I think I've accepted it, there's some big scare that sends me into hysterics and realizing that I'm not ready for him to go.

I'm a disappointment. I'm lazy. I'm a fucking drop out. I used to say, since I was literally 2 years old, that I was gonna graduate at UCLA, and my dad boasted that fact proudly for years because, yeah, y'know what, I could've made it.

But then I couldn't even finish high school.

I can never shake the feeling that he's disappointed in me and I'm his only surviving son and I don't want him to die thinking I'm just sitting on my bed playing video games all day. And sure, I just got a new job, but my last one, I held for about 7 months. In that 7 months, I had almost 30 absences.

The tolerance is 8. I should've been fired after 2 months. I was lucky. And I know he's disappointed in that.

I just want to make him proud before he's gone.

I'm scared that I'm gonna lose the people I've reconnected with recently. One of them left in the first place because I was a complete asshole and toxic to be around, and I missed her something fierce. She was my best friend for a long time, and anytime I talk to her or hang out with her I feel like I've got something to prove, and as far as I'm concerned, I do. She can swear up and down that the past is in the past but god damn it the past is where I live. I'm stuck in it.

Another person, I left because of something they did. A massive betrayal. I learned to forgive, and in a time of panic and crisis I called him and he was there in 15 minutes. After not talking for 6 months, he showed up when I needed him with no hesitation. But he's a hermit. He was there when I needed him but I'm constantly bugging him to hang out and talk and play games with me mostly because I just wanna catch up on time lost. And I know that he's constantly busy, 2 jobs and a family life now, which is fine, y'know, live your life.
But the anxiety and natural fear I have eats me. I know he's not avoiding me, but got damn it I can't get rid of that feeling. That he's already sick of me, that he thinks I'm annoying and clingy and needy and still an immature piece of shit and that it was a mistake to help me.

I don't want to lose anyone else.

I'm scared that one day my dad is gonna die and I'm gonna show up on your doorstep panicked and lost and in shock and needing you and you're gonna tell me to fuck off which you have every single right to do.

But I know that when it happens, I will show up on your doorstep. You're the only person that's ever been able to calm me down when it comes to my dad. I'll show up, knock, panicking because of my dad and I don't know what you're gonna say if you're gonna hug me or punch me or tell me to get the fuck out or what I don't know.

But I know that I'll be there. And I know you don't owe me a god damn thing.

I'm scared of being lost.

Parakeets and Golden Retrievers.

I've been called two different animals, by two important people at different times in my life.

First, I was called a parakeet. I was called that for months before I was finally told what it meant.

"Birds are hostile.
Really hostile things.
Mean.
But they also can't stand being alone.
Especially in captivity.
And parakeets, I remember
They have to be bought in pairs, usually
And if one dies,
You have to replace it.
Before the other one gets lonely, or bored
It feels abandoned, alone.
They need to be talked to often
They start peeling away their feathers, too.
They're anxious creatures.
It's a cruel thing, to get just one."

It fit. That was a couple years ago, but it still fits, I think. I've always been generally hostile. I used to be a whole lot worse, but even so I'm still a dick.

But I have a crippling fear of being alone. Of losing my friends. Of people leaving me. Forgetting me. I think that may be part of the reason I do some of the crazy shit I do. It's memorable. People can't forget me that way.

When I was called a Golden Retriever, it wasn't directly.
The person who called me that had their own blog, much like this. Posted about a Golden Retriever. Its loyalty.

They said,
"Real friends are Golden Retrievers.
Real friends are loyal.
I've realized that some people honest to god cannot vocalize emotions for the life of them,
but that actions speak volumes when they come to your rescue.
Yes, communication is INCREDIBLY important,
but there's something to be said about non-verbal.
Maybe you were never good at telling me how you felt,
But if I'd have know how fast you'd run to catch me,
maybe things would be different."

The particular situation that brought this up, was, this person had gotten arrested. And knowing them, one of the kindest, sweetest people you would ever meet who sometimes made impulsive decisions, did not belong in jail. When I heard the news, and that they were still there, I rushed. I panicked. I called everyone asking if they had money I could borrow to post bail. I'm a huge gamer. Games are one of the biggest aspects of my life.

I was prepared to sell every single one if I had to.

And when I was in my other friend's car, trying to round up money to post bail, and someone told the bail was actually $1000 instead of the $100 I previously thought?
I nearly broke down in tears.

I devote myself to people. Sometimes to a fault, sometimes to an unhealthy degree. But you can't say that I'm not there if you need me. Because I make sure to tell people that almost every day.

Anyways, this rambling has been on my mind a lot.
Especially now that one of these people recently re-entered my life, while the other just left. Hopefully it's just a vacation, but if it's permanently then that's okay too.
I can't decide if I'm one or the other, both, or neither.

But I've never been a good judge of myself.

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Those who routinely place the blame on themselves for everything, even if it has nothing to do with them, won't hesitate to believe you when you tell them they're abusive.

Because there has to be an explanation why you're leaving. Why I fucked everything up. And they'll pick apart every second of that however long relationship and go over it with a fine tooth comb, finding every mistake they made, every little hiccup and fuck up, any time they were yelling at you in what was a two way shouting match, and take the blame from you and put it all on them, Just to validate what you told them, to validate this new identity as a monster you created for them even though none of this is what you intended because they care too damn much for you to see you as anything less than perfect and, yes.

That's unhealthy. And probably contributed to a lot of the things you would call abuse.
They refuse to confront the times that you hurt them. They can't stand to think that this person would betray them like that, especially not more than once. That this person doesn't appreciate all the time given, so much time that they have none to themselves. They dedicate themselves to this person.

And yes, things get bad sometimes. Things got fucking awful and nasty and both of you said things you shouldn't have. And it's unfortuante that it went that way.

But if you call, what is at it's core, dedication, no matter the flaws surounding it, if you call dedication, abuse? Then that person is broken.

That's all I know how to do. Clearly I need to work on how I do it because I let you walk all over me and you never realized you were doing it. And that's my fault. But I am not an abuser. I am not a monster.

Maybe if we had caught things earlier, and stopped them, things might be different.
We might've been able to at least stay friends.
I'm sorry.