once you wrote a bunch of stuff to clear you head and just sent me. i think i should do the same, but i'm sending on purpose.
i've never been good at this talking shit. even now, i ain't good at it. i don't even know how to put this to you, even when i lived it two fucking times. my dad died in a car accident when i was 3, my mom was bedridden in the hospital for years thereafter - and all i ever wanted as a kid was to be just like my dad. she spoke about him like he hung the moon, how strong he was, how fun he was, how he never shed a single tear and how dependable he was. i don't remember shit about it.
i saw her once a week, and id tell her all the kids i beat up between visits, all the championships, all the things i'd be doing, and she'd always respond about how i was just like him. so i wanted to be strong, so she'd be happy. i never asked for help, and i did just like she taught me. in that previous life, up until takemichi died, i had never cried of sadness in front of anyone. all funerals, all deaths, all hospital visits, i was a rock so that everyone could have some emotional stability to hang on to.
and then the fucking curse. i've done horrible, horrible fucking things because of it. if i told you, you'd be disgusted just by looking at me, i sometimes am, too. every single time, i either sank everyone down with me, or made everyone despise me so they couldn't come to close. so i wouldn't... lose anyone else. never once had i reached back to the hands that tried to pull me out of it.
because i was scared. i was scared of so many things back then, and i couldn't-- wouldn't let anyone see that side of me. a weaker side. one that couldn't handle everything alone. scared i'd lose more if i were around. scared i'd ruin the people around me.
that was... a long time ago, for me. i still can't cry whenever i'm sad and this is the first time in forever i'm talking about how i feel, and i get it if you don't think it matters. i don't think it matters. fuck, you'd be well within your rights to not even read this, i definitely wouldn't blame you.
... but i miss you. it makes me feel weak, ridiculous, embarrassed and weak again, to come and tell you all this shit. im kinda getting why you wanted to delete the message now. part of me doesn't even think i have the right to miss you so much, when i'm the reason you're not here with me.
but i miss your laugh in the morning, the nerdy shit books on the shelves, your little shit grin, the way you hid your face when you liked something too much, the smartass comments, the way you'd shower me with kisses before bed, and it's fucked up to me personally to want something i've fucked up, and it's even more fucked up that i'm here with my head down, telling you all this shit.
... i need help. i don't know what i'm doing. i hope you come home one day. that's all i wanted to say.
pain here and idk mikey lore
i've never been good at this talking shit. even now, i ain't good at it. i don't even know how to put this to you, even when i lived it two fucking times. my dad died in a car accident when i was 3, my mom was bedridden in the hospital for years thereafter - and all i ever wanted as a kid was to be just like my dad. she spoke about him like he hung the moon, how strong he was, how fun he was, how he never shed a single tear and how dependable he was. i don't remember shit about it.
i saw her once a week, and id tell her all the kids i beat up between visits, all the championships, all the things i'd be doing, and she'd always respond about how i was just like him. so i wanted to be strong, so she'd be happy. i never asked for help, and i did just like she taught me. in that previous life, up until takemichi died, i had never cried of sadness in front of anyone. all funerals, all deaths, all hospital visits, i was a rock so that everyone could have some emotional stability to hang on to.
and then the fucking curse. i've done horrible, horrible fucking things because of it. if i told you, you'd be disgusted just by looking at me, i sometimes am, too. every single time, i either sank everyone down with me, or made everyone despise me so they couldn't come to close. so i wouldn't... lose anyone else. never once had i reached back to the hands that tried to pull me out of it.
because i was scared. i was scared of so many things back then, and i couldn't-- wouldn't let anyone see that side of me. a weaker side. one that couldn't handle everything alone. scared i'd lose more if i were around. scared i'd ruin the people around me.
that was... a long time ago, for me. i still can't cry whenever i'm sad and this is the first time in forever i'm talking about how i feel, and i get it if you don't think it matters. i don't think it matters. fuck, you'd be well within your rights to not even read this, i definitely wouldn't blame you.
... but i miss you. it makes me feel weak, ridiculous, embarrassed and weak again, to come and tell you all this shit. im kinda getting why you wanted to delete the message now. part of me doesn't even think i have the right to miss you so much, when i'm the reason you're not here with me.
but i miss your laugh in the morning, the nerdy shit books on the shelves, your little shit grin, the way you hid your face when you liked something too much, the smartass comments, the way you'd shower me with kisses before bed, and it's fucked up to me personally to want something i've fucked up, and it's even more fucked up that i'm here with my head down, telling you all this shit.
... i need help. i don't know what i'm doing. i hope you come home one day. that's all i wanted to say.