What I Can’t Say | A Letter

Last night, I had a dream that you actually cared about me.

When I woke up, feeling ill and shaking with something a little like fear, I cried because I realised the dream was just that – a dream. Over the next hour, it hit me that not only did you not care but there was nothing I could do to make you care. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it give a shit about the water, after all.

I could send you a thousand messages, do everything possible to get your attention but that’s what they call “attention-seeking”. I could tell you if I felt miserable in the hours when I wasn’t sleeping; I could let you know just how sad I’m feeling; I could tell you that when I spoke to you, it calmed something within me but no matter that it’s true, even if you believed me, you still wouldn’t care. There wouldn’t be much use in exhausting all avenues of communication if it’ll just go unanswered. It wouldn’t be of much use if it’d just make you hate me.

Now, I don’t think you hate me, just that you don’t care. We’ve gone through too much for you to hate me; you’ve said it countless times. However, the ceaseless paranoia I feel in the cavity of my stomach makes me believe that you just don’t care: that you’re tired of caring. It’s like all my attempts to talk to you, instead of bringing you closer, have pushed you away. Maybe it’s my fault, for being odd and scarily attached to people, but sometimes, it just happens.

You may think that I write this in anger that you wouldn’t care but the truth is, I’ve come to accept it. Yes, it breaks me a fair bit that the beautiful friendship I suppose we still had will be marred by me, where I constantly seek reassurance, but it’s part of things which I have to come to terms with. I’ll change that part of me but for now, I know that when I next speak to you, I’ll be filled with the terror that I’ll say something that’ll make things worse. That doesn’t mean I’m angry or resentful; it just means that I’m both scared of myself and of having direct proof that I’m losing you.

I’m a jumble of thoughts. I want you to care but I don’t want to show you that because I can turn into a pathetic mess. I don’t want to be misconstrued as attention-seeking when a small part of me wants a crying sort of assurance. In short, you make me become a juxtaposition, like I want to shove you away in case I screw things up but I also want to still have you here because no matter that you don’t care, I still care. Will that tear me apart? Perhaps but I must stop lying to myself and I have to stop pretending that I don’t have a heart.

You’ll never read this and that’s why I can say all these things, all of the confused strands of paranoia and loneliness spilling out onto a screen. Maybe I’m wrong and maybe you do care but I don’t want to waste energy wishing. In time, you’ll prove to me that you care or that you don’t and then I’ll know. I’ll just have to wait and try not to lock myself into a loop of wild hope and crushing disappointment.

People stay in your life and people leave; people are there for a short time and a long time and often, you can’t predict what it’ll be. I couldn’t say what you’ll be to me in 5 years because you may have cut off all communication with me by then. It’s okay to do that but what I can’t deal with is this uncertainty: I know that you don’t care as much now but to what extent is still not known to me. Time heals all wounds, they say, but how much time are we willing to give each other?

If you do end up reading this, I might get a message telling me I don’t know you at all, that this just shows that I don’t understand you. To that, I’d say “I’m sorry but in order for me to understand you, you have to let me.” Or I may just leave it. You may say, “Why would you think I don’t care – I have a lot going on so I’m sorry for that.” Or you may never send me a message at all.

I’m not sad now; I’m not angry. I’m neither resigned nor hopeful. I’m just here and so are you and that’s, really, what matters. Beneath all the confusion and torn up thoughts, silent wonderings and spoken happiness, we’re still here.

I’m glad of that. Maybe, at some point, I’ll get my answer but if not? I’m still here.

From Elm πŸ™‚

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21 thoughts on “What I Can’t Say | A Letter

  1. OMG… I could have written this very post a short short while ago. I know the feeling, and how crushing it is. If it can be of any good for you, I had good talk with the friend I could have written this for, and after a good, long, open-hearted conversation, things turned to the better! Things probably never will be like we once had them for a moment, but at least, now I know that our friendship has survived this roller-coaster ride.

    My warmest thoughts to you and your friend, hoping the caring is still two-sided, and that you’ll have confirmation of that soon! xx

    • You’ve just encouraged me so much which I NEEDED. I still hold onto hope but I think a little of that’s good for you, almost. Thank you!!! So so happy that everything has been sorted with your friend!

      • I can tell by the comments of your other readers that we’re a lot of people on the same boat πŸ˜‰ Maybe we should start a club πŸ˜› I am still hoping things will turn out for the better for you…. Did you get news from that friend since your post?

      • Imagine a club!! πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚ and sort of – we talk but I get this kind of crushing despair whenever I think about how our talking isn’t how it used to be in the slightest. Thanks for asking BTW!

      • LOL the B.A. (Bloggers Anonymous)… that’d be cool! We could meet and whine and share…. I think it would do everybody a lot of good πŸ™‚

        I totally get how looking back can be hurtfull, but hopefully, you two will keep sharing something that will be special enough to get over the extra closeness that isn’t there anymore…

  2. This was my favourite blog post ever!!! You literally wrote my exact thoughts and put them into order and I’m so happy I’m not alone , I don’t think you’ll ever know how much this helped me x

  3. Hi hi hi,
    Can I just say – you’ve written everything down exactly as I’ve been feeling since January. I get this, I feel this.

    If you wanna talk, I’m always here.

  4. elm, love, this is beautiful. i (like the many others in this comment section) have experienced this. i’m actually feeling it right now! it’s just the worst, isn’t it? you’ve managed to describe something so complex into a couple hundred eloquent words and for that i applaud you. i’m always down to chat about anything, by the way! i hope your day is lovely!

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