I give up.
I never thought of myself as one to say those three words and mean them, but after months and months of trying to mend what we once had, I'm convinced it's irreparable. You broke me. You broke me beyond repair, and I don't think I'll ever come to terms with that.
The moment you found someone new, you dropped me like what we had was nothing to you. Like she was so precious you needed both your hands to hold her tightly, while I carelessly slipped through your fingers unnoticed. It felt like I was nothing more than an accessory to adorn your loneliness. Not once in my life had I felt more temporary, replaceable, and utterly useless.
You see, I thought opening up to you was supposed to reassure me that the probability of you leaving did not exist. I thought sharing my innermost fears and insecurities would have helped ease the heaviness in my heart. Instead, it gave you a reason to validate those very insecurities. All those demons I had mentioned to you were more so brought to life because of you—you who had once told me they were all in my head.
So how was I meant to forgive you after that? How was I expected to carry on conversing with you when your presence alone felt like a blade slicing right through my heart? How was I supposed to stay there, bleeding, helpless, in so much pain?
To this day I will never know the answers, but for months on end I tried to. I stayed with you still, feeble light in my eyes, relying on a fraction of hope, thinking that maybe things could go back. Maybe if I kept running into your arms the moment I felt lost, you would start to feel like home again.
Maybe I was still worth something.
But confusion replaced hope when the person I used to be so comfortable telling everything to no longer said the right things. When the person who used to check up on me even at 3AM because he knew I was still wide awake no longer understood the things I tirelessly tried to explain. When the person standing right before me was felt alien compared to the one I had in my memory.
And after days spent trying to fit the pieces together to figure out where I had gone wrong, why I wasn't a person worth staying for, why the one person that made me feel like I wasn't alone had gone ahead and left anyway—I concluded that the reason I still cannot put two and two together is not because of the pieces. It's because I should no longer be dealing with the same puzzle.
Because you know what? I shouldn't even have to fight for a spot in your life. If you wanted me there, you would have acted like it. You wouldn't have hidden behind all your excuses of being too busy, too tired, too distracted. If it wasn't an obstacle making time for her, you sure as hell should have made time for me. But I guess that's the thing—even though I was there for you when she wasn't, I defended you when she didn't, I went out of my way to make you happy when she still had her doubts about you, I still certain that she will still win over me. Because that's what you showed me. That's what you've made me believe.
And so I am finally putting my foot down. I am done. I am done with you saying I am worthy of time, care, acceptance, and love yet simultaneously giving only what seems to be your leftover. I am done with you using flowery words and tear jerking stories to try and pull me back in your game once I've pushed you away.
For once in my life, I am allowing my tiny shred of dignity to win over my mountain of self-hatred and doubt. I am letting you go. And once you start to notice that I quit playing victim to what your idea of "love" is, don't you dare try and get me back. Because I know you, but I know myself too. And despite everything I said, I also know that I will not be able to look you straight in the eyes without wishing that everything would just go back to how it once was.
But you are acidic and I am alkaline, and you will never be good for me.