June 2nd - Flashback To A February 2020 Note in 2020 - public

I wrote about you so much. Seemed like every single day I had something to say. Usually, it was a lament, a grudge, something that I didn’t need to say but wanted to hear out loud. Just when I’d get close to realizing that I was being stupid about how everything was my fault, I’d talk myself into hating you again for no reason. No reason other than to try to make myself feel justified in being wrong.

When wasn’t it about you
Did everything I could to stop too

I hated myself for the longest time. Every night I spent sober for six months I thought about what I could do to get her back; how many different versions of the same apology I could come up with - one night in early June during the year I vowed to not drink I almost broke down. It took stepping back from work that night, taking a deep breath, looking at this girl that I was with who was not anyone I was going to ever be with and realizing that, I wasn’t doing this for anyone but myself now. Not drinking wasn’t going to bring you back. Being sober and writing my heart out until there wasn’t anything left wasn’t going to make you come back. You left me, you told me you loved me one morning and then we fought and I acted like a fool and by that time you clearly had decided that I had given you the opening you needed to leave me. Although it may not have seemed like it then, I don’t blame you anymore. I was a wreck inside and didn’t like the way I was and even though you and others are known to say it, it wasn’t your job to fix me.

Hard to convince yourself you aren’t broken when you haven’t fixed anything important.

I hate that I can’t make myself not wonder about you once in awhile and then come to find you’re doing things that I would have loved.

I was in some incredibly dark spaces while I was working on myself all of 2019. There were days where I wondered if I would ever be happy again by myself. Trying to install “You need to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with/for anyone else” seemed like a lost cause most days. The feeling that I just needed to be accepted by anyone whatsoever literally rang true for weeks into months. I thought that I was going to be better if I changed things about me for others. Clearly that was a farce and I didn’t understand anything better than that. It took months of sobriety on top of isolating myself from hundreds of people to actualize the severity in my brain that most people didn’t give two shits about me if I wasn’t in the limelight of the stupidity of the drunkenness scene.

It took me well into my adult years to realize; you’re never going to make everyone happy. All of last year, I was sober and healthy but god I was lonely, even after finding another person I started to care about. My life seemed the least complicated it had been in a long time (Well, until moon water and the immaculate conception we thought I was a part of) and I still felt more bored by the lack of social interaction than I had ever been.