Hurt

If ever you ask me, if you decide to break into my tension, question my attitude, try to make me feel better, if you ask me "why are you acting this way? Why are you acting so... weird? Why aren't you nice anymore?"

Well, I can answer that now.

I acted like I acted before because I felt it. I actually felt happy for you when you told me about your activities, about your successes, your troubles, your day. And now I don't feel it. The feeling is not there. And if a feeling is not true, I will not fake it for you. Poor imitation... thinly-veiled disinterest, I can show you. But not the real thing.

I am hurt. I am fucking hurt. Not justifiably, and the blame is not on you. But I am still fucking hurt. Knowing that you're fucking someone else, and then worse, that you still profess you love me to try to soothe me, to bring me back in, to convince me that nothing has changed between us, the PITY you give to me by doing so, kills all the care I had for you before. It's so obvious, J. We only exchange text these days, but that's enough for us both to know what's going on. You're fucking another guy, I become hurt and pull away. You notice my silence, the distance I intentionally put between us, and you try to pull me back saying that "you love me". And it is so obvious that you're saying that only to pull me back, and not because it actually means something besides that. "My poor baby, I still love you". "Don't worry, you're still important to me". "I'm still willing to be fucked by you too, only if to appease your pride, not necessarily because I actually like it". Like a mom soothing an over-sensitive kid who is jealous of some other object of his mom's attention, his lover maybe.

My fucking sexual self-esteem hangs upon my single anchor I placed on you. And if that one is in danger of detaching, if I feel I may no longer be the "master" of that little place in your body and your heart I once considered my own, my being feels terrified and reacts irrationally. Well, that is me now. If I had found someone else by now, you would not be as important to me, because your news of Robert would have had a much lesser effect on me - you would not be the unique person that keeps me from having no sexual possibilities again. "Oh, you're fucking Robert. Awesome. I'm fucking Sonja. We can still be friends!" But as it is, there is a huge imbalance. Of course one can feel love for many people when one is loved enough. That is easy. Be loved by many, choose your few actual lovers, and you'll have tons of self-esteem and love to go around giving. Have only the memory of the one girl you've fucked and a consistent history, of rejections and failures, ever since the beginning, and you can imagine how one can feel different. I can say nothing to you now that would make either me or you feel better. I cannot improve things by talking to you. I do not want to talk to you now.