The Random Book

Pretense

TW: self-harm

They say, when things get hard, reach out to someone you trust, someone you love. But the one person I trust and love in this world... How could I reach out to you? How could I reach out to you when your life is one hell itself? How could I reach out to you when...?

I'm the one who dragged you down to that hell?

How can I possibly tell you that I'm tired? That I want to quit, everything. I was young and hopeful. I thought if I tried, I'd find a place for myself. And your heart was where I found some space to fit in. You loved me so much that you became my everything. You kept me going for a good while, but happiness wasn't meant to last for too long. I started to hate me the same old way, it hurt to look at the reflection in the mirror. And so I changed... was that wrong? To wish to love myself just a bit?

Yeah. Probably a great sin, cause the punishment was too harsh. Your parents took you away from me; the freak I was. The "son" they warmly welcomed before was suddenly a disgusting predator, a whore, a criminal, an abomination. They cursed me to hell, as if I wasn't already a resident there. With the one thing I felt at home gone, my life kept falling deeper and deeper in to the abyss. I got disowned, lost my "steady" job, people disgusted me, nightmares haunted me, the demons got me, and I let them. I spent to the last penny and numbed myself in alcohol, the pills and whatnot. I let my feet carry me to your house to pass at your feet. I should've let go then. But my pathetic body held on.

I found myself waking at my dusty little apartment to greet your apologetic eyes. You were sorry for leaving and I couldn't blame you even if you had walked away yourself. Who'd want to live with a freak for the whole of their life? But you showed up again, like a meek ray of light in my dark abyss and gave me those useless hopes again. You chose me over your parents and the blissful future they planned for you to have. I thank you, I love you, but you shouldn't have. Perhaps if you didn't come back, things would've ended with me. We wouldn't have to struggle together. Together we left my cheap shaggy apartment room and bought our small house after selling off everything but the bodies we had. Two rooms, small living, kitchen and a bathroom was a little too hard to afford. You did your tailor job, which wasn't so gracious in income and I ran part times, doing anything and everything. But the money was never enough to provide you with the comfort I wanted you to have, the comfort you deserved, or the therapy I should've had. I was a fool to think that things would fall in to place, get better over time, to think that life would be a happy ride if I had you by my side. I was wrong.

True, your love, the moist of your kisses, your warm embrace and that steady assurance eased the exhaust of the day, made the things a bit endurable. But those things alone couldn't make things be alright. Just love itself can't keep someone going on. I couldn't tell you, I was slowly slipping away, again. With you right by my side, I stood alone, alienated. I fought battles inside my head, with my fears, plaguing thoughts, extreme discomfort, dysphoria and crippling feelings.

These fights were and are, for the both of us...and... I'm clearly losing.

The insults won't stop, those disgusted looks are intense as ever, hatred just keeps growing. And it's taking a toll on you too. I'm not blind, though I wish I was. I can see how people look at you too, when you're with me. When they know that you're with me. I know you're trying not to show me that you're tired of all these things. I've thought of freeing you from this pathetic life a million, trillion times. It'd free you from half these burdens, it'd make life less miserable. It's clearly the better choice I can make for you, which I can't really make... Because I'm all you've got. Because I ruined your life. If we were to part, would you have a place to go? You're not welcomed in your parents' house anymore. You don't have friends to rely on, thanks to who? That little job won't keep you going smooth. What and what would you have to do to earn a living? No. I can't afford to witness you suffering. I can't afford to be the causer of more pain, I've already done more than enough harm. I can't break your heart.