Dissolution and Disillusionment

For those of you who are reading Bitsy's Inhuman Submission, please ignore the spoiler. This is not a happy tale. I'm not sure even the end is happy. I also refuse to answer (under threat of pain) how much of it is true.

********

Dear You,

I can't bring myself to type your name or any appellation you gave yourself or that i gave you. I'm raw. I'm broken. I'm empty. I wish to god I were numb because right now this hurts like hell. You say you were going to let me down. Instead, you destroyed me.

When I met you i was broken, more so than I realized. You slowly pieced me together. Made me feel that I might be worth something. And in one fell move, you destroyed it. I wasnt enough. I was too needy. You couldnt give me what I want.

It's not you it's me. Really? You said that line to me?

I'm a little. Are you aware (as a Daddy) how much you destroyed me? I can't breathe right now. I'm on my ninth crying jag, and it hasn't even been nine hours. I can't eat for fear I'm going to puke it back up.

You took away my rock. My anchor. You robbed me of you.

You broke every rule of yours and forced me into the living hell of my ultimate hard limit: isolation. Do you have any idea how it feels? To know that the person you need most has thrust you out to be alone?

You say you want to be friends. That's not fair. It's not.

That you can't feel guilty for what you've done to me.

Just today you promised me that things were going to be fine. We were going to be fine

If you live to regret what you did and not shut me out like I think you are doing, I can't forgive you or trust you again. Kitten is dead. Little is dead. Babygirl is dead. All that's good and decent in me is dead. All that you professed to love and adore and cherish and want to protect is dead.

Daddy? When will this pain stop? Please tell me it stops soon. I can't take it. Whatever I did wrong I promise I won't do it again. I promise, Daddy.

*

Dear You,

Friday was learning to breathe again. Saturday was attempting to hold down food. Today's goal was no tears or alcohol. I haven't eaten much today. I've smiled more. I still have so many questions. I shouldn't have gone off on you like I did last night.

Part of me wonders if I'm typing this for nothing. If you will never see it. What's the point? I mean. Why torture myself this way? My dearest friend would be pissed if she found out, but then she's only handling losing her former by pretending she didn't feel what she felt.

I have this feeling that you found someone else. I've asked you. You said no. That should be it, right? But, then, why the coldness?

Even when we were friends there wasn't this awkward cordiality. Are you trying to make me go away? Is that it? To not bug you, remind you that I exist? That we were together for a reason?

I know I sound angry and I'm not. Truly.

Little tried to rear her head. Master would have been proud of her--or was he an illusion?

Maybe one day, you will see fit to give me answers. Maybe, one day, I will share this with you. Or maybe I will just continue to be delusional.

I'm afraid to call you out on all of this that you will go away forever.

And I can stand even this dying by degrees daily if you don't go away.

*

Dear You,

Today you gave me hope. Or rather I forced you to give me hope or reminded you of us. It was all for naught. My intent today was to eat three square meals. It's almost 8 and I've eaten one Spree candy and an applesauce pouch.

I lied to you and blamed it on the weather. Yay me for saying it was too hot.

I think you saw through it.

I touch my clit and feel nothing.

The thought of eating seems like too much trouble.

Me. Who used to wax poetic about food.

You said we were too deep. We were.

But while you are finding yourself, I'm ceasing to exist by degrees.

You promised to talk tomorrow. I asked a favor.

How is it that you aren't clamoring, begging to talk to me?

You want to know what feels fake?

This. This shadow existing. Feeling that you don't care that even breathing is difficult these last few days.

The fact that you have taken away all safety nets. That I can't express how I feel for you.

It's like banging on a wall constantly begging to be admitted. And you aren't letting me in.

And. I don't want to give up. But I can't fight your resolve anymore.

I'm broken. Exhausted.

You know. I wish I could be Bitsy. When Stuart leaves. I wish I could be the one to be strong and resolute. To not grovel when not wanted.

I promised to keep tomorrow light. Friendly. No recriminations. I don't think I promised no tears.

Even though...I have no words.

Now. If you were to come to me and say I'm sorry I didn't mean it. Or I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I know we are supposed to be we now. I'm scared.

Because I'm worried I will tell you to go away.

*

Dear You,

Even though we've talked, even though you told me I could, I don't want to change it. Is it because part of me fears I will feel that feeling again even though you promised me I wouldn't? One day, I will let you see this, read this, if you want. In the meantime, I can't even read the first parts without wanting to sob.

Am I stupid for not giving up?

I told you that I almost gave up. And you realized (if you've read yesterday's entry) how close that was.

I used the last of our strength reserves fighting for us last night. And fighting for us today. The reserves...from that book I read...are empty. It's been suggested that by crawling back it's leaving you open to hurt me, that you can get away with it.

I'm reading a love story. It's really long. Like 500 pages. I will tell you more about it later.

*

(Months later...)

Dear You,

It's almost that time again to send you another message that you won't answer. Six months since you ended things. Five months since you disappeared off the radar, and yet a holiday doesn't go by without me messaging you, pretending everything is friendly and normal, with lots of emoticons (grrr, they call them emojis, now), all sweetness and light.

I'm not the same person. If you had asked me a month ago, I would have said I had happily moved on.

There are times I go for minutes not thinking of you, what you did to me, by doing what you did to us. Note that I said minutes, not days, not weeks, not months. Minutes.

I don't know that I love you anymore. I don't know if the "you" that you shared with me so briefly ever existed. So, how can I know if I ever loved you.

Last night, I resurrected these letters from the pits of hell. I wish I had left them there. There's now a gaping hole in my chest. How can I be so gullible.

Relationship-wise, I've moved on. I've met someone who painstakingly put me back together, caring for me all the while saying I could never be his. Until I was healed enough to be his.

Until I re-read what I wrote last night, I was happy.

He makes me happy. And that feels good and wholesome and wonderful. It doesn't feel, to quote you in the words you lashed me with savagely, "like words on the screen and stolen phone calls."

Sincerely,

No Longer Your Babygirl