Happy Birthday

# The fact that I'm blocked is WILD to me. I had ALL THE CARDS in my hand and then I fumbled. Biggest L of my life.

In honour of your 22nd birthday, I cried.

I've been meaning to write this since the 17th, but I've either been too busy or too depressed to make time for it. The last couple of weeks or so have felt like hell - my trip back home was so rejuvenating and cathartic, but it feels like as soon as I stepped foot back into this country, everything I left behind came rushing back to me. It's like I can't escape, no matter how hard I try.

I can't remember a single day in the last few months when I wasn't crying, or being down in the dumps. I've been exploring this a lot more in therapy, which I should probably talk about at some point, but I've learned that it's literally just trust and abandonment issues coming to the surface. It doesn't help that this happened between us, but uh, part of life? I dunno.

Anyway.

which way do I go?

I had so many plans for the birthday, but instead, I spent the entire day listening to 21 by Gracie Abrams. It's funny, because the first time I listened to that song, I thought that it would be funny if one day I was able to relate to it, word for word. I literally foretold this. I might be an oracle of some sort.

It's embarrassing now, I think, to even talk about this, considering that we're not a part of each other's lives anymore. I don't think there's any point in even knowing each other. I would like to, but you can't help yourself from hurting me and I'm too attached to complain about it. Bit toxic, innit.

I wanted to take you to that one place we went together. I wonder if you've stopped associating that place with that day. Part of me hopes that you have, considering how awful that day was, but part of me hopes that you never do, so that a part of me can live on in your mind forever, even if in a negative way.

I wanted to get you flowers. I keep reading and seeing things about how men don't get compliments or flowers and stuff, so I wanted to spoil you rotten because I thought you deserved it. I think the rational part of me still does. It's the emotional one that can't stand the thought of you.

And I wanted to write a letter. I knew my time with you was short, but I wanted to leave a physical keepsake for you. Something to remember me by. I am not very articulate, even worse when I'm speaking. I mean, just look at this blog. But there are so many things that I've thought or felt but was never able to put into words. How you made me feel, how much I valued you, and just how incredible I thought you were. Even in the most platonic, basic ways, I always adored you. The version of you that I knew might've been pretty fucking shitty to me, but I dunno, I see what I want to see and I essentially split you into 2 different people. One I dealt with, and one I had the misfortune of never knowing.

I think about where I went wrong all the time, to be honest. I've never had something like this happen to me in my entire life, obviously. And I've never been this stuck on a person, either. Or had them fuck with me so bad even after we said that we were done. I don't know if it's because you maybe feel some type of way (unlikely, since you've always claimed to be apathetic), or because you just enjoy the attention that comes with messing with my head. Maybe you're just emotionally manipulative like that. Who the fuck actually knows. Not me.

-

I don't know what to do with myself or where to even go from here. I'm drowning in work and trying to keep my head above water. It's stressful. I get no joy from anything I do, but not doing what I've committed to fills me with an insurmountable amount of guilt. I fill the gap / void with work. I try to leave almost little to no time for myself, because I know what happens when I have alone time. It's so scary.

Every day, every fucking day for the last 6 months, I've tried to make sense of all of this. You know that too; you were there for 3-4 of those months. I keep finding what I think are solutions, only to discover that they're not at all helpful and I'm back at square one.

And I keep thinking, you should be here with me.

And I'm wondering, do you ever struggle half as much as I do?

And I'm asking myself, do you even know? Even if you did, do you even care?

A part of me does wonder if you do what you do because you don't know what to do with me. If thoughts of me and the memories and the attachment and the curiosity -- if all of that is too much to tolerate sometimes. We did have a weird twisted connection. I don't know about you, but I let you get to know and see me in a way that no one in my entire life ever has.

That might be a delusion, though. Wishful thinking.

I don't know where the fuck I'm going with this, to be honest. It's almost 2AM and I have a whole ass conference that I've said I'm going to assist with. I have an incredibly busy 2 months ahead of me. Zero time for myself.

Somehow a lot of time for you though, apparently.

I hate what I did to myself. I hate what I allowed you to get away with. I can't even blame you, when I'm my biggest culprit. I take full blame for this. I absolve you of all responsibility.

Honestly, you know what?

Happy birthday. Fuck you.

# It's funny I say that, because I've been dreaming of you on and off for a while now. I still update that playlist, too. I wonder if you ever see?

والله قلبي ماني ناسي هالايام