To my Archer

To my Archer

To my Archer

LTME-postI’m sorry, but I can’t stop thinking about you as mine, in a stupid mystical way. I fucked up pretty hardcore, and it wasn’t worth it. I let him twist my mind around. I let that happen. And because of that, two years on, I’m still suffering and missing you. I pass your old neighborhood often, not in a creepy stalker way but because that’s the easiest way to get to the witchy shop, you know, the one I went and still go to every week? I can’t make the hurting stop. It won’t go away. Some of it is my depression, some of it is just me. I don’t know how to let go. And there is a lot that needs to be said. I’ve said them in lyrics, I’ve said them in dreams, I’ve said them in my head, I’ve poured my heart out to close friends who understand me. My whole world has shifted. I’ve worked so hard to deal with my issues but… I don’t know. You moved on. You moved on so fucking fast. I found myself angry when you took her to Colorado. Despite knowing it was my fault that any of that happened in the first place. And then you changed… Broke the most important promise you ever made to me. I lost my Archer, my love, my best friend, because I let myself be manipulated. And I have friends who tell me every time I discuss it that it’s not my fault, it was never me, it was IT, and IT wasn’t human enough to be real with me or treat me like I deserved. But however rambly this turns out to be, J… It was always you. Deepest in my heart, it’s you. I love you. I miss you. I hate myself. I hate how I lost you by forgetting who you are to me. My best friend, my heart, my soul friend, my everything. The best man I’ve ever been with, without a doubt. The knowledge that you are very likely completely lost to me is deeper than the over-used dagger in my heart… It is rooted within every ounce of my Being.
I pretend I’m okay, lose myself in rock n’ roll, meditation, books, writing (what I can get accomplished of that, anyway), and gaming nights with the gang, the very changed gang, work, whatever… I’m not, and everybody around me who knows me well enough knows it. Thinking you must hate me… Oh that thought hurts me so badly. And at the same time I have this thought: What entitles me to being hurt by anything when it comes to you? I broke up with you for someone who deeply damaged me, someone who didn’t know who they were and couldn’t decide whether they loved or hated me. I broke up with you after some intensive inundation from them… They made you out to be a villain in a situation they created to trap me. They turned you into a fucking weapon and then destroyed us… And utterly incinerated me. I am not the girl you fell in love with when we were still in high school, best friends, me not wanting to ruin our friendship. I am not the girl who finally realized she loved you and had no idea where to start. I am not the girl who got absolutely totally glammed up, beyond her norm, for you; I am not that girl.
I am a tormented shell of who I used to be. I sometimes find myself happy but it doesn’t last long. I tried dating. I got my karma. And my fucked-up head is my lifetime’s worth of karma, because nothing works to make it shut up. Either meds make me sicker or make my head worse or don’t work at all. I must be a special kind of sick.
My heart is a broken black shell and I am in hell.
This letter’s not to get you back, or to make you angry or sad or react in any type of way. This is purely fucking selfish, J. This is therapy. The only way I know to help myself. It’s the only way I really think of things in the reality…
So I’m going to tell you a few more things, of my reality. I had my first and only one night stand last summer, and I regret it. I also tried dating someone and he was fucking disrespectful and got quickly kicked to the curb. I am paranoid and easily triggered and tired all the time. I let my brokenness take over, J. It happened and it was total.
But now that I’ve begun to come out of the deepest of the dark, despite the fact that it won’t stop hurting and I can’t make myself stop thinking awful things about myself… I think about things we did. Together. That near-week in Colorado Springs, holding each other and exploring, talking and laughing, just us. That one time in that one hotel room, years ago, somewhere between year one and year nearly-five, I was awakened from slumber by your loving touch. So many intimate moments, so many smiles, laughter, you once being terrified by my dissociating, anxiety talk that you thought I was breaking up with you and I wasn’t, the moment I understood what you were thinking I flew into your arms and told you that’s not what I ever want. I think deepest down during our ordeal at the very very end, I still not what I ever wanted. I wish it hadn’t ended the way it did, I wish it hadn’t ended at all, I wish I hadn’t ended it. I wish I hadn’t hurt you. I know what I did and I’m still punishing myself for it.
I love you. I love you… I love you.
There’s nobody else. Not in the deepest roots of my soul.

Your broken little witch,


P.S.: Your voice in my mind is the only thing that keeps me on this planet…


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