I don’t need to explain, defend, or justify myself to you. I’m past that. I no longer feel that I owe that. Also, I don’t think you want to hear it regardless. Still, I want to talk about some things — not to console you, but for my own sake: to see me more clearly.

When I was happy or manic, I could unmask with you without a problem. Often, it did see me as I really was. But if unmasking meant showing you that I was tired, exhausted, stressed, anxious, sad, then I felt as if I needed to mask, as if showing you how I felt was a social taboo. So, when February and March started, and I was always exhausted or stressed or sad, then I was always masking, which exhausted me even more, which made me mask more. Then post-TRC, there was no point in masking, because everything was obvious. So, like Jesus, I wept.

As for communication, there’s lots of reasons why I was so shitty at it throughout our relationship. First, it’s been a long held pattern with me — but my reasons evolved: first, I was, and still am to an extent, self-destructive. The very fact that communicating would have helped me was what stopped me from doing so. I wanted to suffer because I wanted to die. 

Second, honestly, I thought my silence (and my silent yet obvious suffering) wouldn’t hurt you, so communication didn’t matter. Why wouldn’t it hurt you? Because, I thought, you didn’t care that much, because why would anyone care that much about me. Plus, if I didn’t care that I suffered, why would you? Sure, you said you loved me, but was that ever really true? Sure, you were there for me when I broke down the first time, but was that not evidence of the innate goodness of your beautiful nature than of any love for me? 

Third: was I afraid of being a burden? Sure, all mentally people are. But it wasn’t a large fear and it’s not the main reason I was so uncommunicative. It was just a drop in the ocean that was my rationale. 

Fourth, spite — to myself, not to you. I feared that I wouldn’t be able to handle the burden of myself. This fear was so extreme that I’d sooner suffer more so long as I could function than unload my suffering onto someone else, because that means I was weak and that I was always weak and that I would always be weak and I would never survive in the real world, because in order to survive in the real world, one cannot rely on anyone but themselves; they must be able to carry themselves, alone.

Fifth, denial of reality: “I’m okay,” because if I admitted to struggling, not only was I admitting to being weak but I was also opening the possibility that there might be a problem that I might not be able to handle by myself, that it might be a problem that could ruin me. “I’m okay,” because I wanted to be strong like you and Ethan and Jay and Alex and Linder, not weak like me, like I always was (like I always believed I was). 

I could write about the “pushing myself” thing, but I don’t think that’s something you want to hear right — or maybe I’m just saying that because I don’t want to get into it. Maybe I’m still being the moody and uncommunicative child I always was.

Anyways, I hope you’re still doing okay. Bye.