Thursday, September 14

Thought a nap during lunch to make up for the little sleep I had would help.

It served no purpose, but made me feel more tired than I already was. I was thinking of all these stuff, & my overactive tear ducts started again. The thunder was rumbling beneath my feet & it only added to my already bad state.

A thousand things to say to you ran through my mind. For example, 'If you mind so much, why don't you jolly well go find someone else who's squeaky clean, who has no past to speak of, who will allow you to love her fully without holding back at all?' But I didn't say none of that. Coz' I couldn't, & I didn't want to. What if you took me up on my word & leave? What would have become of me?

& then upon waking up, what a lovely conversation I had with you. You said you're ok & you've stopped asking. But you simply spared no thought for my feelings when you kept goading me about it. I'm not in a mood to talk, much less entertain such ridiculous requests while we're both working.

You're absolutely not sparing a thought for my feelings. It's all about you. You want to know, you don't want to find out on your own, you're upset. What about me? You think I shouldn't be upset? Oh, you're all being morally justified like, 'You're the one who did all those stuff, & I'm simply asking you about them. Why should you be upset?' Why should I be upset? WHY SHOULDN'T I BE UPSET?

Why shouldn't I be upset when I have to tread so carefully around you when you cave into your bad mood because I answered a question you wanted to know about? Why shouldn't I be upset when you walked away like that? Why shouldn't I be upset when you're not appreciating me for who I am now, instead, you're judging me on my past? Why shouldn't I be upset at all? Why is it all about you?

Don't I have the right to feel as well? Oh, so you think I'm unfeeling because I was bad back then.

So you think I keep track of EVERY SINGLE detail of my life, that I remember in vivid colours all the things I did.

Time passes on, my memory fails, like everyone else's does. So what purpose will it serve if a small shred of it comes back to me, & I sit you down & tell you all about it? It's pointless, because it'll lead to ANOTHER such situation to happen. I'm telling you at a time not necessary, & you're learning it whether you like it or not, & it'll have us both upset again.

I'm just honestly giving you answers to your questions. I'm hardly holding it back you know? But if you're expecting me to tell you over the phone, graphically describe what happened, named every single person while I'm upset, & you're upset, you're seriously mistaken.

I didn't want to tell you I feel that you're manipulating me because you have the upperhand to, that you're emotionally blackmailing me, emotionally interrogating me. But the way I perceived things, you wouldn't have cared what I said. It was all about you.

Such a thing wouldn't have upsetted me this much, if you haven't done it about 50 times before. I think it's like a rubberband, you stretch it a little more & it gets closer to its snapping end. & I'm just feeling horrible & lousy & upset about it all. You can't even understand that.

Some people wouldn't have felt it's all that big a deal. But you do. You persist & persist. So what do I do to pacify you once & for all? Do you want me to go to the top of a building & yell, 'I was a bad person! I was such a slut, even though I didn't sleep around! I've been a shameless hussy!' Would that perhaps make you feel better?

I don't know what you're trying to do. Pushing me for an allout confession or what. I've told you the truth. All you need to do now is, respect that.

'Fuck it' was a nice way of putting it. I know you have your feelings too. & I'm not adding on to it. All I did was sound weary talking to you (of coz' I would sound weary, how would I know when you would fall back into your 'I want to know but I'll be upset after knowing so you have no choice' routine).

But I already did tell you I was upset, so why are you making it worse? Why do you insist, bring me on guilt-trips, make me worse than I already feel, & very suitably, reduce me to a crying mess.

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