Twisted? Wrong? in Diary

I woke up tonight thinking about you, about how you cut me off so abruptly with only the explanation, "I'm uncomfortable about our relationship when we were younger." Nothing about that tells me what I could have done to you to make you feel that way. All these months, maybe it's been a year, I don't even know anymore, I've been wondering what you meant by that, why you won't even text me let alone talk to me.

Of course I blame myself alone, at least in my heart, for the sudden rift that appeared between us. How can I not? But the logical part of my brain tells me you must have been uncomfortable not just about my feelings toward you, but yours for me, as well. I can only guess, imagine, or maybe just fantasize, that you were in love with me just like I was with you when we were so close, when you were younger, when we were younger.

I never told you I was in love with you. But I was. I was so in love with you, more so than I've ever been with anyone else in my life. I wanted you so intensely. I fantasized about you for years, although I kept my feelings to myself. No one ever knew. I think I wrote about you in my diary, but I never used your name, never mentioned who you were or the nature of our relationship. Just stuff like this. Anonymous. Only you might know I'm talking about you.

We haven't seen each other, well other than a year(?) ago when you came to visit, since you were a teenager. That most recent visit I don't even count, because you had clearly already made your decision to cut me out of your life. I could feel it in the way you hugged me. When we were younger, you hugged me as tight as my fiance used to. Your body pressed against mine so tightly...I'll never forget the way that made me feel. But last year, you hugged me like a person would hug someone they felt obligated to hug, but had uncomfortable feelings toward. It was only after I mentioned how distant you seemed that you sent that text cutting me off.

I know my love for you was unconventional at best. A lot of people would say it was sick, or twisted. I think they might. At least some would feel that way. Anyone in my family, other than maybe my mom, certainly. But because I was in love with you, I didn't just want you, I never told you how I felt. Sometimes I'd fantasize about saying those words to you, in my dreams, but I never would have, not unless you asked me to, out of respect for our friendship and to avoid people thinking badly of me.

You must have wanted me, to. I'm probably being an arrogant douche bag for writing that or even thinking it, but why else would you want nothing to do with me all of a sudden? My theory is someone, most likely your mom, told you about the day we went on that long hike in southern Utah, told you I was staring at your butt. Believe me, I tried not to, and it's not like I was staring at you every second. You were the only person in front of me. And your body was painfully attractive, as beautiful as the beauty all around us, the red rock cliffs and the striking blue sky. Honestly, I did my best to not look at you at all, let alone be a pervert and take you in with my eyes like the worst kind of pervert. I've called myself a pervert twice now in this letter I'll never send. As a young man with raging hormones, I think it was impossible for me to not do what I did. I'm trying to justify myself, my actions, I admit that. But while I feel guilty about what I did that day, if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn't have done anything different. I felt like I needed to look at you the way I did, because soon you would be gone and I'd never get another chance.

Pheromones seem as unbelievable and unrelatable to me as magic or vampirism do in real life. Still, I wonder if there must have been pheromones that we exchanged. Or something like that. It wasn't just me holding you tight. I could feel there was no hesitation on your part. You held me the same way I held you.

My dad told me you were getting married soon. I didn't even try, (I barely tried), to hide my disinterent. I think I said, "Huh. That's interesting." I think my dad must have at least suspected how I felt about you, that I was in love with you, judging by comments he and especially a certain other person made often. I'm too hurt to be happy for you. If I could choose, like if I were taking a multiple choice test, I'd choose that I rather you were happy than unhappy, whatever that might mean for you.

What you did to hurt me... I feel betrayed in a way I'd never betray someone I loved. Maybe you still don't know I love you.... As I've gotten older, after being deeply hurt emotionally by people several times, I've developed the (bad) habit of bottling up my feelings. The feelings are certainly still there, I still feel the pain, the sorrow, but I don't allow myself to express them. I don't cry aloud or sob or anything like I used to, especially over you and my ex's. Maybe someone can tell me sometime why I've become this way. I imagine myself, the way I handle emotions, like a sociopath would. Of course I am no sociopath, because I feel emotions the same as your average person would, and I care about you and other people. I'm not detached. I feel compassion for people who are suffering in any way. All this craziness is just an outlet for me.

I'm sorry for anything, for everything I did to hurt you. Whatever it was, whether it was your mom telling you how I stared at you that day or your feelings for me or whatever else, I am sorry for hurting you. That being said, I'm not sorry for loving you or for being attracted to you. Those were things I couldn't control. Even if people would call me twisted or sick if they knew. I never meant to hurt you, and it kills me inside to imagine I might have, but if you won't communicate with me, how can I ever make things better? How can I ever explain myself, my actions? How can I ever tell you I'm sorry? I'd do anything I could to make things better between us, even if it meant telling you I was never in love with you, that I wasn't lusting after you, that my feelings for you were purely platonic all these years, despite what anyone else may have told you.

That's all I have to say. I'm sorry. And to my Friends, I'm sorry I'm too scared of your reactions to be transparent with you about all this.

Song of the moment: Am I Ever Gonna Change?, by Extreme (You know, the More Than Words band)