Anything I could think to tell her, any response I could imagine, instead of hearing some thoughtful compassionate measured reply from her in some effort to help me feel better or rationalize that I'm not as low as I feel, just became an away message, saying to tell myself whatever I think I need to hear and don't call back. While she's away at her better life, becoming further and further away from anything resembling what made me feel so comfortable with her. Any thought of communicating with her was shot down mentally by calling back to the litany of replies she gave when I was most distressed over how she changed and how badly she made me feel and was sending her frustrated upset unhinged messages gasping for some sort of air something to make this stop, something to call back to when I was just happy to talk to her. But every time it was just that I should change how I think. Any thought I have of potentially communicating is ingrained in me as some shit I have to do myself because she's tried enough and anything I share will humiliate me because she'll challenge my strength by telling me to fucking deal with it, stop deciding to be unhappy :weak weak weak:. Left alone and worse off because trying to communicate just means more defects for her to tell me about. So I have nothing left. I became too invested too excited about talking to her every day, invested in finding ways to help or just excited to hear from her, but caring so much makes me too jealous and want crave so much, and being jealous turned anything nice she could say into dust and I thought maybe I could share my fave gifs with her but no response and she stopped calling me by the names I liked. So in the stark light of her criticisms of how defective I am and how I just need to figure it out and how offputting I come off to people and how my apologies for bugging out dont fucking count, i seemed to have lost any privileges, and after a few casual conversations where I just tried to talk normally, she had won. I have stopped bothering her about my neurosis of the day and she doesn't hear about how depressed work is making me and how alienated I feel from her or how I just want some attention maybe, want to be paypig and I dont know hunt for truffles to bring her. But I stopped being that and she stopped entertaining me and I could try opening up enough and just chill out but talking to her feels very cold now and kind of makes me feel sick. A few weeks ago every good feeling about this life involved her somehow, or wanting her to be involved. The uncertainty adds to the sickness. Not knowing if she'll ever call me anything again, not knowing if she's just a guy now, so all the secrets I shared with her are now the property of some guy who doesnt give a fuck and feels disgusted or bored by my endless issues. My issues haven't gone away they've just become worse, more severe, acutely painful, and hidden from her so that she cant keep hurting me in a last ditch effort to hurt me and highlight my foolishness and weakness so much that I either fix all of it quickly or leave her alone. None of it is being fixed quickly or at all. But it's hidden from her, which hurts me which makes me sick because there is no one else. But it's better than wrapping my good feelings around her as she shrugs them off at best and makes me feel like a total fucking clown at worst. Finally after all these years I learned to appreciate her and then became too much to handle because everything comes out wrong and now I'm more guarded than ever. I don't even know if she's the person I was excited for it if she's become completely different and all the fun is dead. I can't know because I can't open up to her anymore, which is probably a relief for anyone outside of me. It only took a few conversations to shatter any new comforts I found in her or new appreciation for our relationship and excitement for hearing from her when I woke up. It feels like it was such a huge thing to crack my feelings open and listen to her speak and be appreciative. No excitement left after the humiliation and alienation, just waiting for the pain to numb to the point where I can make small talk without being sad over the loss and without wanting to tell her everything, either lecherous or depressive. the former was my favorite to share. The latter is just how it is. these entries always seem to endlessly circle i think because i cant really deal with anything i'm writing about. i just keep feeling this awful sickness that persists after writing it down. usually it kind of feels better afterwards, like a release, but i only squeeze tighter and tighter, holding it in more and more, lonelier and lonelier, mattering less and less until i'm gone gone gone

i wish i could share this with someone