It’s been 10 ten years, since we met for the first time. Me…an inconspicuous, chronically sick, almost anorexic-looking girl, you….a chubby kid with a habit to annoy everyone around you….including me. Now, for you it’s not about ripping the pages out of my book, or cutting my hair off with a pair of scissors anymore (because at that time, no one was supposed to notice that you liked me), instead you chose to rip my heart out and trample on it, after 6 years of telling me that you loved, cared for and would always be there for me. You took a part of me, that I’m never gonna get back and now, this hole in the middle of me seems like a huge black abyss that every happy thing just falls into.
The last couple of months have been pure hell for me….now I know what it feels like to be treated like shit and I’m terribly sorry that I used to treat you in a way a couple of times that made you suffer….but I’ve never chosen the easy way out, as you’ve been trying to impute to me over such a long time now.
I still remember that day, when T. came to me in school, sat down next to me and told me ,with a sort of funeral gravity that scared the hell out of me: “Something’s wrong and I think you should know. M.’s had an accident, he’s in intensive care now….and it doesn’t look good!”
When they finally told me what had happened, it was like my heart stopped beating completely…..you died, because some old guy, disregarded the right of way and ran you over. Hadn’t I always been telling you that people on motorcycles were nothing more than organ donors??? But you always just put you arms around me, kissed me on the forehead and said: “Don’t worry…I’ll be alright!”
Alright? ALRIGHT? What’s supposed to be alright about being in intensive care? What’s alright about your heart being nothing more but a useless lump of flesh inside you chest??
And what’s alright about me, not being able to reach you, because I had no idea in which hospital you had been brought, because I neither had you parents’ or your brother’s digits? What was alright about your family, having no idea that I even existed?
A couple of months later you started rehab. You survived when no one thought you would. You are a fighter, you’ve always been.
Back then, I made my first terrible mistake, that you still can’t forgive me for…..apparently.
I left you.
I couldn’t take care of you…I just couldn’t. It was too much for me.
You couldn’t really speak or eat or walk…
And I couldn’t look at me in the mirror anymore without hating myself for what I had done. I still can’t.
We both haven’t really been able to move on since then, but it’s easier for you since you can blame me for what I did to you.
All I have left is the certainty that you will never forgive me and that I will have to live with this hate inside of me for the rest of my life.
I’m not the person, taking the easy way out. You are.