I want this to end. The nights crying silently on the phone, feeling bad and self-hating about something you said.
Yesterday I was more or less forced to go to a party. It wasn’t so bad because it was a pancake kind of party and people didn’t drink. I didn’t enjoy being around them, but I didn’t suffer either. Maybe it’s nice to be detached from one’s emotions sometimes.
However, during that 5 hours, I kept feeling the urge to go home and suffer. To be in pain. As I was walking home from the metro, I was somewhat relieved that I could finally do that. There was a strange sense of comfort when I thought about the pain that awaited me in my loneliness.
The girl who hosted the party talked about this guy in our class who asked her out then got devastated when she rejected him. He thought they were something because they slept together; the sex was good, but she didn’t love him. She said that he told her about how unhappy he had been all his life, and that she was his last bit of happiness. Everyone gave a mocking laugh and agreed that he was full of self-pity, or ‘misérabilisme’, as one of them put it. I had the same reaction, but now that I think about it, I feel sorry for the guy. Maybe he was truly unhappy. Maybe he was hoping that by exposing his vulnerability to her, he would gain her compassion. Maybe he just wanted to share with someone who he thought might care. I was uncomfortable about him becoming a topic for gossip, but then again, if I were her, maybe I would despise him too.
Unrequited love is sad, but at the same time no one is obliged to love you back, so maybe it’s just a natural part of being human. Then I think about my best friend who recently had a heartbreak, and I try to put myself in her shoes to imagine what she’s been going through, but I can’t. I think about you, since you must be suffering right now, but I can’t feel that either. I’m incapable of imagining anyone’s pain other than mine, let alone understanding or sharing. What an awful creature I am. Maybe I do deserve to be unhappy.