He left. He hurt her in the worst way possible. But she knew it was all her fault. Now she's just trying to make sense of it. Of herself. Of everything. But the closer she gets to finding a place f...
"...and it's not even that I hated him..."
"I'm sure you didn't."
"But sometimes he did things that drove me so crazy it's like I could've done something about it."
"I don't know; something to show him how upset I was."
"You wanted to hurt him?"
"Not physically, no. But emotionally I wanted him to feel how hurt I was."
"So which is it? Would you say that you were more hurt than upset?"
"No, I was both, equally. Being hurt upset me, understand? One emotion ultimately brought-about the other. Cause and effect, ya know."
My friends thought I should go to this doctor a few months after the "inevitable end." They thought maybe if I spilled myself to some stranger I'd feel better about things. Some days I did, some days I thought it was a complete waste of time (and money, for that matter.)
In the end, I hadn't learned anything new about myself. Everything she told me about myself; the attachment, the impulses, the crazy bouts of depression and worthlessness, I knew already. I didn't need some pretty face with a college degree to tell me all that. Thanks lady, but no thanks.
Then my best friend Torrin decided to play shrink. She'd call me up every day and insist that she come over and we "talk." What she really meant was that she come over and sit there, waiting for me to reveal some profound insight as to why I felt so crummy. It amazed me that no one got it. Didn't they see what happened? Wouldn't they still feel crummy too if that'd happened to them?
So anyway, I finally gave in to her. She came over pretty late one night. I couldn't sleep and was feeling pretty lonely. I didn't want to reveal anything to her, but sometimes keeping things bottled up really takes a toll on a person.