So there it was. What a horrible way to end things. What an unfair, completely wrong way to go out. Not meant to be is one thing, but having her completely cut me off, having her dad call me and tell me that if I contact her again he'll call the police, that's completely different. I've become a monster to her, to them. She doesn't believe that I love her anymore or loved her. She thinks it was all a lie. She refuses to look at the context. She refuses to believe that it was just one more way for me to say that I love and miss her.
It's all my fault, of course. She may be over-reacting, but I did it to myself. I trusted in this place too much. I trusted in her not to read things here, not to find me out. And I don't blame her. I probably would have been reading her online journal if I knew where it was. Not when we were dating, but afterwards, when I couldn't talk to her anymore, when I was dying to know if she still loved me.
I guess she's been reading it all along. I guess she knows all my secrets, all the thoughts I didn't share with her. Her brother says I posted a list of her flaws for all the world to see. He's right in one sense. It was on the internet. It was out there in cyberspace. Anyone could find it and the one wrong person did. But that was not my intention. I have a public blog. I have a place where I can attempt to make cute musings and think deep thoughts and I posted a link on my profile so everyone could see it. That wasn't this journal. This one was supposed to be the personal one. I wasn't writing for Jess or Chris or Sarah or Amanda or anyone who knows Jess, who might think ill of her. I was writing for me, for release. And I was writing for you, the few random Diaryland people who I know come here, the only people I thought actually cared or read my words.
When I first started this journal, it was to practice my writing. It was a place to hone my skills, to keep my fingers moving. And sometimes I'll post just to post. But in the bad times, it's been a place of healing. The title, a line from one of my favorite books, is "Stories Can Save Us." And it's true to me. I'm not just talking fiction. Letting those stories out, getting my thoughts down on the page, that's healing to me. Telling people how my day went, how much I hurt or how hard it is to keep going sometimes, that helps me. Just knowing that someone else is reading, that someone else is listening, even random strangers who came across my journal by accident, that means a lot to me. I desperately want to be understood. To have comraderie and shared experiences. Maybe that's immature, but it's part of who I am, of who I've always been and it's probably one of the reasons I love to write. It's for those little moments where people say, "I understand. I've been there," or, "I haven't, but thanks for sharing."
I'm mad at this place now. I'm mad at the internet. I'm almost as mad as I am at myself. This was supposed to be escape. It was supposed to be my sanctuary. Instead, it destroyed everything. I don't know what to do with it now. Maybe I should lock it. Maybe I'll move somewhere else. Maybe I should stop writing or keep a paper journal. It doesn't really matter a whole lot at this point. The damage has been done.
To my uninvited guests, if you're still reading:
I'm not perfect. I do stupid things. I hurt and I get hurt. I make mistakes that I can't take back. But I defy you to find one example, one wrong word, one thing I ever, ever did to intentionally hurt Jess. Intent doesn't change what happened. It doesn't make wounds instantly heal or allow me to go back in time and erase. But intent does matter. It shows what kind of person I am. It shows that my heart was in the right place. It shows that I should be forgiven and loved (by you, not just Christ), despite of all my screw-ups. How am I supposed to move on while she hates me? How could I ever just write it off as a learning experience, a chance to grow? I deserve to be forgiven. I deserve to be part of her life again. She may not want to, but she can forgive. She can forget. We can move on together, not separately. I understand if we can't ever date again, but I deserve the chance to make things right, to go out on a positive note. I'm not asking for absolution. I'm asking for another chance. Because, believe it or not, the positives can outweigh the negatives again. I am whatever it is she saw in me still.