I didn’t realise anyone could be so stupid. It didn’t seem possible. But then I met you, and you proved me wrong. You are that stupid and it blows my mind.
If you only opened your eyes, you might see. If you only tried, you might understand. But I get it now; you don’t want to. You’d rather dance around it and press your hands against your ears to drown me out. It’s not a thing. It doesn’t exist. Except it is, and it does. Your persistent insistence on being blind is driving me insane.
How lucky for you to have that luxury. How fortunate that you have the luxury of pretending it doesn’t exist. Of denying it. I wish I could say the same. I wish I could turn it off like a light switch. But I can’t. I’m stuck with it, and I’m sorry to say that for now, you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry. But I’m even sorrier that I have the unfortunate displeasure of being stuck with you.
How I’m managing not to scream and slap you senseless is anybody’s guess. I manage it because I have to, I suppose. Because I don’t have a choice. Believe you me, if I had it my way, your head would’ve split from my shrieking. Your body would have turned black and blue, bruised right down to the bone. Aren’t you fortunate that I am able to show restraint?
I’m not so sure you know how. If you did, you’d stop digging it all back up just to try and excuse your own idiocy when there is no justification for it at all. If you knew, you’d realise the ludicrousness of your words.
But you’re a moron with not even the first clue. You have no idea how torturous you’ve made it for me. I thought I loved what I do. But thanks to you, I’m questioning everything I worked so hard for. You have no idea of the pain you’ve put me through. As if being stuck with it wasn’t enough, you have to rub it in with your persistent delusions that it has no effect on me whatsoever. Maybe it wouldn’t be this bad if you’d stop insisting on playing pretend.
Don’t you realise you’re actually making it worse? It’s not that hard to deal with, you know. I’m not asking for the world. But to you, I guess I am. I’m sorry you find it so unreasonable that I need different things, that I have to find other ways to deal. I’m sorry you find it inconvenient. But I’m even sorrier for what you’re too deluded to realise you’re missing out on. I’m sorry that you won’t benefit from the things I could show you.
But I’m not sorry that you’re missing out on all of it. You’ve only got yourself to blame for that one. You don’t deserve it anyway. I’m not going to waste my time on someone who thinks I’m not worth theirs. I’m not going to bother caring about someone who couldn’t possibly care any less about me. Believe me when I say that I am running as fast as I can, racing toward the part when I get to leave you behind in the rear-view mirror. I can’t wait for the part where I can finally be free, get away and leave you in my dust. Cause I promise you that then, I’ll never think of you again.
