I hate him, through no fault of his own.
I hate him for being interesting and for showing up when I was lonely and wanting to talk to someone else like me. I hate him for being like me.
I hate him, because he’s felt things before, he can express that he loved someone else. Because he did love someone else. I hate him because he’s felt things before, and because he’s new, and I haven’t. I hate him because he makes me feel like a freak. Because addict or no he’s more emotionally together than I am, and all I would do is fuck that up.
I hate him because I’m interested, and I’ve never been interested before, and I don’t know how to deal with it so I’m hating him instead. I hate him because I was attracted to him before I knew what he looked like and that’s new too, and I’m afraid.
I’m afraid because what if he’s crazy? What if he’s lying? What if I’m terrible? What if I met him and he sees all my scars and changes his mind? Fuck, what if I met him at all... I can’t even do that. It’s kind of safe, because we can’t touch each other. Safe because I can just turn the computer off. Safe safe safe because I don’t know how to care about somebody.
All I have are my broken and fractured words. And the only person they can cut is me.
I hate him because of the crazy flashing switches that he sets off in my brain. I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you. I love you, but you’re going to leave me. Going to hate me. I’m going to fuck it up. Going to say something horrible and insensitive and stupid. I can’t stutter typing, but I’m sure I’d find a way. He’d know how crazy I am and run like hell. Like he should.
I hate him because I can feel the broken parts of my mind shift to life and clatter urgently in the back of my mind. So so so certain I’m a moron. Absolutely unrequited. And then he says something and it’s so obviously requited and I almost smile and then he disappears and I’m crushed again and sure he hates me. That I’m an idiot. That he knows I’m crazy and has decided to ignore me.
And the front of my mind looks over its shoulder and says ’Are you fucking insane?’ and the back of my mind says ’Yes, obviously, and that’s why he doesn’t like us.’
Fucking hell. I think I’m crazier off drugs. Before the halves of my brain didn’t talk back to each other.
And all this goes on in my head and I frantically throw sandbags of sex on the canal to keep myself safe from someone leaking in so they can leave me. I HATE him for getting through.
I hate him because he’s like me. Because he’s me. There’s no one I hate more than that.
And I hate him because none of this is his fault. And I wish it was, but it isn’t. It’s me, being fucked up and crazy.
There was a guy, I spent a lot of time talking with the first few months I was clean that I had a huge crush on. Which is not surprising, I suppose, except for I hadn't ever had to deal with any feelings like that before and they were really really hard for me to manage. Mostly because I had been using before I even knew I liked guys I just knew I didn't like life very much, so I'd never really sat and talked with another guy without also doing drugs.
In other words, this is me liking a boy (man, actually, I think he's probably close to 40 now) for the very first time with a clear head.
This is also about the same time that I started therapy.