Steve - Caves

Okay, fuck you, this is a special occasion.

The loneliness hasn't gone away, but... today has just been SO GREAT I'm making an exception.

Actually, today hasn't been that bad, but it's given me enough to feel morose about, so that's what I'm doing. I figured I was starting to get better, actually. I came back here, and I was suddenly able to get out of bed, and my room was tidy, and I could eat decent and even try my hand at a little moderately creative cookery (if you call getting Ragu sauce to taste nice cookery). I've even been reading a tonne, and that's something that usually takes a lot of energy out of me. I haven't been feeling great, but better than I was.

Unfortunately, I think that was a rather unstable process. I'm putting random emo grainy piano music on repeat again.

Yeah, so today I got an email. I've been applying poststructuralist thought to all these correspondences, amusingly enough. Seems to me that all the horrible things said are just as true as all the nice ones, even if we ignore the energy is that is generally reserved for things said to hurt. What makes the things we say in happy nice frames of mind any more true than the things we say in horrible hurtful frames of mind?

I'm not even going to keep these pretences anymore. It was pretty delicately executed, pretty beautiful, that you kept your name 'til last. Pretty fucking devastating too. I bet it gave you satisfaction, didn't it? I hope it did, it did for me. That's probably what ended it really, that twist of cruelty.

Help me? 'Help you'? Are you fucking kidding me? I don't even know what to say to that. How many times did you save my life? HOW MANY TIMES WERE YOU THERE FOR ME?

Not hard to find. Right. I know, I'll just phone up the girl who again and a-fucking-gain purposefully distances herself from me! Maybe I'll get another of those emails that somehow manage to be spiteful and uncaring at the same time. At least this one didn't end with a promise that we can go through all the same again.

I am sick and so fucking tired of you, of this. I'm controlling, great, sure, do you know how much control you've abused over me? So many things you could have just... not said, but you did. So many times you held the balance of power so firmly and yet somehow accused me of the same. I've always been honest with you, to the extent words let me. If I'm made of words, you're made of lies.

Yes, I'm pathetic, well done, you got me good there. But what gives you the right to make me feel like this? You didn't have to, no one forced you, you could have just left it and just been cold until I ran out of effort. Did you do it for my good? Certainly not. You did it for your own. Your peace of mind, your satisfaction, your sadistic pleasure? Why else would you go into gender? Do you somehow think you were doing me a favour? No, you didn't, so why did you do it?

Is it because I didn't tell you it would hurt me? There are some things you don't have to be told. Some things are just... unsaid, without words, ain't that a novelty? Well, here's something I'll tell you straight out: there comes a point where you can't blame your failings on other people anymore. You're very close to that point. Soon enough, it won't be your fathers fault, it won't be my fault, it won't be even be your issues' fault, it will be YOUR fault. Sort yourself out. Fuck all that shit you said about growing 'apart' and grow up. I loved and love that good part of you, and now I know how to find it: take all the apathy, all the that self-destruction you do, all the family, all the boys, all the girls, all the words, take all of that away and you'll see it. Stop fucking compromising, this is where it has got you.

And you know what? I'm not going to be there to help you with this one. You'll do it or fail to do it on your own. I'm not going to be that boy you left behind, that boy you kicked around and then finally took pity on enough to end it. I'm not going to give you that. I am going to be the girl who burns. Burns as hot as my heart is beating right now. Burns with the accumulated pain of all the self-harm you lost in numbness. Burns with your throat after your body fails to subject your mind to its will. Burns with everything you put through me for this. Burns to remind you what you should be burning. And until you have,

Never, ever, contact me again.