'you' is not one person, it's at least 4. So don't get yr knickers in a twist.
 
Never had such a thoroughly epiphanic feeling in my life.
The irony is always that every time it's some miniscule, infinitessimal, petty ass incident that makes me feel the big stuff.
There is not a god damned thing I can do to make you see, or care, or change.
Just like there's not a god damned reason for me to torture myself with guilt because you hurt yourself with your weakness and blame me for being hurt in turn.
You make your choices, and I have to make mine.
Even the wonderful people here that I love so fucking desperately and will miss to the point of pain aren't going to make things better for me in the way that only I can.
I'm done with sorries I almost never owe being the biggest part of my vocabulary.
I'm done listening to my child-subconsious ask "What awful thing have I done to deserve this treatment?"
I'm done mixing unreasonable self-sacrifice and self-disrespect with forgiveness.
I'm done with both being a doormat and trying fruitlessly to communicate and progress.
I'm gonna let it all slide without defense or anger or attempts at sensible situation-salvation; smile in your face and list plans in my head to leave this behind.
You may not be able to treat me like you love me, but I can start, because I do. I'm actually pretty fucking incredible when I bother to take a look at all of the easy outs I could've taken through all of the damage you've carelessly caused, but took the high road instead.
I don't need you to decide I'm worth a damn.
I don't need lazy, selfish love.
And unlike you, I don't need to hate or hurt you to feel better after what you've done. 
If you don't believe I deserve so much better, you don't care like you tell yourself you do.
I can so fucking easily have an amazing life in spite of you.
I just have to be
so
very
fuck it '09.
And so I say, in the words of the great Kimya Dawson...
You can go to hell,
I'm moving on.
AND in the words of the great Band Of Horses...
I'm better off,
and I like it that way.





Four months.


 p.s. say/feel/hear what you will about this person, but no one's ever been so successful at truly making it better; saying all the right things, and actually meaning them. I cannot hope to thank you enough, but I can hope to be able to repay this.