I know most people would consider me more than a monster if they read the story I gave her.
In fact, I don’t blame them.
I myself consider me a monster for it
And the day I tell her the truth about and behind it… she’ll think of me as a monster as well….
I feel guilt, I regret telling her such a story.. but deep down.. I did the right thing.
I gave her a story in which if she grew too “attached” to my real self, I could take myself “away” from her before I caused her pain. That’s the thing I never wanted to do to her. I would rather disappear from her life before I hurt her because I was being “myself” with her.
I told her the story of my family, of how wrecked up it was, but I didn’t give it to her exactly as it was, I gave her how I viewed it.
A father who didn’t care for his family and the only thing he cared for was money.
A caring mother, suffering under the wings of such an awful father.
A sister, who conveniently procured me when I was “needed”, but when I was not needed I was nothing more than a pest for her.
What story did I give her about myself?
I gave her an awful story for many, but a “reasonable” one for me…
In her eyes I had a medical disease that was slowly killing me.. the reality wasn’t so different, I had a psychological one that was murdering me from the inside on a daily basis.
In her eyes I was abandoned by my family.. the reality was that my family was indifferent to my suffering, or I kept the reality from them too well from fear of their reaction to it.
In her eyes I was dying… the reality was no different, I was slowly dying from the inside. I was an empty shell by the time I met her, I had numbed myself from myself and lived the life I was given for so long that I was merely a machine doing as it was programmed to do. At some point I resorted to hurting myself in hopes of finding some sort of release from the pain, people see this as wronging but … physical pain hurts much less than emotional pain…
Even though I gave her a “fake” background so to say, I never lied to her about how I was and my appearance.
With her I was myself, who I truly was. Every little thing I loved, hated, was passionate about… I gave her everything as it truly was… not what the rest of the world knew.
I never gave her pictures of other people like most people do in situations like this. I gave her pictures of myself, even if not “complete” so it wouldn’t ruin the facade I had in the outside world.
I know it caused her a great deal of pain, but even more painful would’ve been giving her my real story, and that the day our relationship escalated to something more than friendship, the day she would want to meet me and see me in person… she would be gravely disappointed in me. I would never live up to what she viewed me as.
After all, how could a monster live up to human standards?
I would rather give her a painful story, a story in which she knew that this person would someday disappear from this world. That this person one day would cease to exist.
But in the end, I wouldn’t be hurting just her…. I would end up destroyed. I loved her. I loved her so much that it was painful for me to live knowing that one day I had to take myself away from her. That I wouldn’t see her anymore, that I wouldn’t be able to talk to her anymore.
I that loved her so much, was willing to take myself away from her the moment I saw myself hurting her… was I truly doing the right thing?
I felt awful giving her this story, I really did and I still do… but, deep down, I feel I did the “right” thing.
I fell in love with her, the love I felt for her… I never felt it for anyone in my life. She meant everything to me, she was everything to me.
The room I once saw as my hell, became my heaven because she was there.
I would be desperate in school just because I wanted to talk to her.
I never wanted to go out because it meant less time I got to spend with her.
What was a small friendship for me… became love, true love.
Sounds hypocritical from me to say true love, considering how many lies I had given her.
But I guess… deep down some of us would rather live a beautiful lie rather than a painful truth…
That was what I was living…
A beautiful lie…
I was in love with her, I loved how she was, who she was, how she acted, her thoughts, her actions, her looks, her words, her laugh, her rants, her body… I couldn’t get enough of her.
I never thought emotions this strong could be felt towards someone until I met her.
I hated the thought of a relationship, the thought of marriage meant more than hell to me.
But with her…
I had fantasies of me with her, living with her, going to the park with her, helping her buy her clothes and have her asking me “does it look good at me?”, holding her hand along the sidewalk walking home, sleeping next t her at night, hugging her to sleep, making love to her.
I could see it all, I yearned for it all…
And yet, how can someone who’s willing to disappear from her life have hopes for all this?
How could someone like me expect to live a life I can’t give her?
I didn’t know what to do.
I was lost…
I found comfort in HIM again.
He who has the power and strength to give it all.
I prayed every night. I asked and begged HIM for the story I told her to be real, I didn’t care if it was hell as long as I could be with her.
I asked and begged him to turn me into what she wanted.
I wanted nothing more than to make her happy.
And how much of a hypocrite was I… I was the one causing her pain in the first place.
I was asking for the impossible, and yet I had blind faith that it would happen. It’s clear how much I believe in HIM just by seeing how I turned to HIM and asked HIM for something that is clearly stated as sin, as wrong and as mundane…
I asked him every night to give me forgiveness, to forgive all tat I was doing to her, because I knew that she wouldn’t forgive me… it was something I was well aware of.
But a person can dream can’t they…
There’s nothing wrong in hoping and dreaming…
Sure it doesn’t amount to any more than that, hopes and dreams… but they give a certain “peace of mind”
And with the life I had, that was something I knew all too well..
There’s a saying, that a lie can sometimes become so “beautiful” that it ends up becoming your reality
I was living up to that saying.
I didn’t want to love my reality, I began living my lie.. even if just in “closed doors”.
Outside my room I was who my family and society wanted me to be, and inside my room, I was myself.
A dying being who was in love…