And that is the only thing I will say to you, if you ever choose to love me, or love me again. Because you will never understand what I have went through just to get your approval about how I look, how I act, or even how I smell or how I sleep. I'm sorry that I didn't live up to your expectations. See, I live through life day by day thinking about how to make people happy, yet forgetting that the one thing that really matters is making myself happy.
But what if making myself happy isn't what's most important? What if making myself happy will only cause people to judge, to ridicule, to pick up at my insecurities that are barely hanging on underneath the surface? I have SO many insecurities, and I'm so scared that nobody will truly get me, who I am as a person, who I am when I'm by myself, around others, around my stuffed animals laying around in bed with my shorts and a laptop open to Netflix.
You don't get me, and I'm afraid nobody truly does.
It's so hard finding that someone that will really know how I am feeling, or somebody that will complete my sentences, or someone who knows I am not okay, even though I may repeatedly reassure them that I am truly okay. I'm so awkward when I meet new people, never knowing what to really say, never knowing what to say to make them like me or even love me as a person. I feel invisible when I try too hard, and then I just feel judged when I don't try at all.
Impressing you is so hard. I simply just wish to be left alone, with my thoughts, so I would feel at ease and loved in some way from myself.
I hate it when we have fights, too. When I would constantly shut the door from you and refuse to go out and see you. I'm an introvert, and in some ways, I tend to convince people that I am an extroverted introvert, JUST to get some sort of approval, because even though approval is something so small and intricate, it is still something that can quench my taste of feeling I belong somewhere.
And that is why I write. I write to show everyone how great you are, even if you put me down sometimes. I write stories just to make you feel comforted, content, at ease. I know sometimes my stories bother you, because you feel as if I'm not bragging about you enough, but I still love you in the sort of way that nobody else can really love you.
I know you understand where I'm coming from, when I would tell you stories about my childhood, when you watched me when I struggled in building a decent relationship with my parents, when you watched me get my first paycheck, and on and on and on. I know you never really judged me, but subconsciously you did. Our relationship was just beginning when I started to feel down, when I started to feel that you never really LOVED the way I am, but in fact, you brought more people in my life to convince me that I wasn't like them, that I was JUST not enough.
That me being nice to everyone would just drain me. That me only talking to you would only make me realize that I wasn't putting myself out there enough. That me relying on you would just make me realize that I was codependent. That me ignoring you would just mean I was turning my back on everyone.
We had a love-hate relationship, and you loved it. But I didn't know if anyone else ever felt the same way with the world. I call you my Universe, because I find the word "world" synonymous to many different things, such as lover, boyfriend, girlfriend. You weren't my lover or boyfriend, you were my universe.
I couldn't contain you, and you couldn't contain me.
That was fine, but it never meant that I didn't try to contain you. But then you made me realize one thing: something so huge and magnificent just couldn't be contained in the tiny hands of mine; so then I stopped trying to keep you steady. I simply let you go as one of my free wills, and I hope one day you realize I was always your universe, and that you should try to stop containing me, too.
Let me go.