Dear broken heart-
You perfectly fucking awful thing. I knew you were lurking before. I felt the twinge of you occasionally on the wind. I know how you love to hang round as soon as I even get a hint that you're coming. The crying. The whys. The questions that never have any fucking answers or closure. You drive me to drink. You drive me to binge. You drive me to fuck others. Are you missing entirely? Is this the problem? That I am completely devoid of a whole heart to begin with that the pieces never fully mend and I can never fully trust? You lead me to the worst things. Love killed me. And Love kills me. Every time, and the only effort it takes is a fucking smile on one boys face. One compliment, one laugh, one perfect moment and you sit there. Ready to fucking ruin it for me. You put on the songs that make me it worse because you are masochistic, and drowning in it drives me closer to the edge. Where some day accidentally or possibly intentionally it won't hurt anymore. You win too often. This fucking russian roulette. I dare you to give yourself the way you once did. You won't survive. So what then? What the fuck then am I to do I ask you? You impulsive shit. You heart, you give it away so easily desperately seeking some sort of love you have been denied at every turn. With family. With friends. And of course, more deeply, with lovers. Hit and run.
You know what's fucked up heart? You play the game well. You make the men fall like cards. Even when you are out with the one you love, you can attract the ones that you can inevitably break, just as you've been broken. What is it I asked Dean. He said "there's something about you. Your energy. Being around you is like being alive. Living in the moment." I guess I'm intoxicating. But shit, that's only when I don't care. I start to feel anything remotely deeper than attraction and it all goes out the window. I become complacent. I want to please. I avoid conflict. And I secretly hope someday one I feel for asks me what I want. What makes me happy. Who I am. You know who I am? Someone who's past is a broken movie. There's being really young til about ten. The years I can find childhood. Those years mean something. Then past ten I broke. Men broke me. My mother broke me. My school mates broke me. I can not think of one moment, not one, where I was truly happy. The years run together. I try to forget. I drug to numb. I drink to forget. I cut to pacify. I learned lying is your friend. Lie about the abuse. Lie about how you feel. Lie to impress because no one fucking likes you anyway.
Without those years I miss a huge chunk of who I am. I stopped taking pictures of myself. I stopped trying. I lived those cruel moments over and over. The knife to my neck. The feel of the forceful hands upon me. Over my mouth. Killing the inside of me in one swift act of violation. Then the cruel notes in my locker. The failed attempts at rebellion. Then I reached out. Alastair led me to believe maybe he could teach me to trust, to love again. But he was the first in the string of men that had me because I was convenient. I am more than that dammit. I know I am. But here I feel you. Choking me. I can not breathe for the pain.
I can not write any more to you heart. Not tonight. You need to do what you can to protect yourself. Pay attention to the warning signs. Be smarter. But time is the only thing that helps this. So I ask you this: Someday, do you think you can give yourself away, and have someone give the same to you? Not convenient. Not cheating. Not a filler. Really give. If the answer is no then perhaps you should stop. Because really, this broken feeling... There are no words. Let this be a lesson to you.