i think my life would be better if i was just okay with more things. you know what i mean? if i just let things slide. if i was okay with my ex-girlfriend’s love of expensive purses and “essential” oils. if i just ignored all the people at work who can’t figure out how to print documents. i love people and i want them to be better than me, so i push them and i yell at them and i’m screaming because i’m screaming at myself. literally projecting my voice onto them. DO BETTER. EXERCISE. BE NICE TO THE HOMELESS. et cetera. because i don’t do any of these things, i avert my eyes to the disenfranchised, i eat ice cream for dinner, i play video games all night long. life went from a fun voyage to a cruise alone through smoky doldrums.
so this is why we should break up, not because i don’t love you or care about you dearly, but because i suck, and am not worth your time. i am a perpetual failure and i set myself up for it with the one-two punch of lethargy and depression. i am frustrating because of my extreme inability to connect with others, often self-inflicted. i tend not to care about people’s trivialities, which makes me feel like a dick. because maybe i am a dick. and, i, i can’t talk about these things because then everyone will know and i’ll be damaged goods forever. and also because people who constantly talk about their depression are depressing and annoying. the worst part about depression is that it turns people into morose assholes who are wholly self-concerned. that’s me in a nutshell. i pretend to care, which keeps me at arm’s length, but sometimes i’m aloof enough that it masquerades as confidence, and then i slip into relationships because it’s nice to have someone to love and a warm body beside you at night, even if they’re fundamentally wrong for you. but my aloofness is like a mountain, unmoving, unwavering, a peak so high you need an oxygen mask and a sherpa to ascend it.
the truth is that i love you beyond phonemes but if you stick with me you’ll be sticking with a dead husk of a man. everything i touch turns to shit, every relationship wilts into blackened stems. i spend all of my bus commute deciphering the hollow pit in my gut that sloshes with occasional guilt and sadness. i am a burden. i am unburdening myself from you. i’m giving you the opportunity to avoid months or years of feeling like you fucked up. i don’t want your pity or your sarcastic response, i don’t need your hate or your love. i’m a self-righteous asshole and i deserve the hell pit i’ve dug for myself. that’s all.