I was lying in my bed with a handful of problems in my head. My phone buzzed, so I decided to pick it up, just to see a text from Angelo. 

Chris told me to ask you to unblock him. He wants to talk.

Not, thanks. I won't do it.

I didn't want to talk. I wanted to make him hate me. To make him yell at me and tell me I was the most awful person he knows. I wanted to make him leave me forever. I wanted him to find a nice girl and forget about me.

I loved him, I was with him for over a year and it made me happy but… but it didn't feel right. I wasn't supposed to have such nice things, so I needed to get rid of them. Sabotaging this relationship felt right.

After all, there were a bunch of things he did that annoyed the shit out of me. And that he rarely tried to help or support me when it came to my mental health issues…

But I rarely told him about them. He had it worse, so I shouldn't worry him about my insignificant problems. He didn't usually know when I was having a mental breakdown. And if he knew, I made sure I made myself feel even worse after I told him about it.

I had problems with communication - I knew about it. It felt wrong to talk about my concerns and problems. It felt wrong to ask for reassurance. For help. For anything, at all. Talking with me about important issues made no sense because I would invalidate myself just to keep the other person happy.

I always could help others with their issues and concerns and when I did it, it would make me feel less useless. Like I had some goal and reason for being on this planet. So I neglected my own fucking self. I was only happy when I could help someone else because I couldn't help myself. 

So I had two options. Locking myself in my house and never speaking to anyone again, or talking with Chris and just agreeing to anything he wanted me to.

I was going to choose the second option. But it was surely going to take me some time because currently, I was feeling nauseous at every thought of talking with him.

So I lay in my bed and tried to somehow convince myself to explain everything to him, even though I was physically unable to do it. Maybe if I got drunk it would be easier. 

Maybe with a little help from alcohol, I would be able to tell him every single one of my concerns. To talk about my sexuality, my messed up gender problems, my shitty mental health… all of the stuff I couldn't explain to him when I was fully conscious.

I sometimes just wanted to stop solving everybody's problems and taking care of their mental health. I sometimes just got tired of being a stable person. The therapist friend. Someone who puts other people before themself. Sometimes I just wanted somebody to put my feelings, needs, and everything before their own. Just for a second. So I feel like my problems are valid. I wanted someone to take care of me.  Of my mind. To just pay all the attention to me. To do things the way I liked and wanted to do them. To treat me like I'm some kind of fucking princess. I just wanted somebody to see me as the most important person in their life. 

But I couldn't just simply tell Chris about it. So it was my fault that he didn't pay attention to, or take care of my problems and needs. 

It was my fault. 

And that's why I had to take responsibility for my stupidity and talk to him.

Even though I still didn't want to.

I didn't even know how to start. “Hey, I'm sorry I ghosted you and I was rude over so many small things in the past few months but I cannot communicate like a normal person”?

He wouldn't understand it.

Or maybe he would. But I felt bad about expressing my feeling and saying the truth, just as always.

I wanted to go to sleep instead. I wanted to cry, but nothing came out of my eyes. I couldn't ghost him for very much longer - he would eventually come to my house to check on me and talk in person anyways. 

I could probably get drunk, explain it to him, and then fucking run away until he responds. Or forever, who cares?

Or I can just wait for a bit more.

Maybe it would really be easier to talk about it in person than over text.

I should probably get some rest and think about it tomorrow.

It should all make  more sense tomorrow morning. 

I hope so, at least.