You are a complete mystery to me. You know me as well as anyone with access to my hidden posts can know me; you apparently have kept up in your reading of this journal and others, you are aware of some if not all of my major faults, my bad habits, the sides of me I wish did not exist (which amounts, usually, to my entirety, but we will forget that at the moment). You understand some of what I do, and encourage that which you do not seem to entirely understand simply because it is part of me and it is what I choose. I have hurt you, and badly, and I cannot seem to make it clear that while I do care and care very much and it pains me to see you hurt by my words and actions, I cannot change what I feel and how my mind works. By your very existence you negate all that I have based my beliefs and my concept of myself on for the past... as long as I can recall. With your words, you undo me. It is not a nice feeling, being completely unmade like that. I will not lie; I wish you had never found me. Doubtless would have made life easier on the both of us, most definitely on you. You took away one of the major defining elements, one of the biggest keys to my existence, with three words, and I suppose I am utterly insane because I want that element back. You seem to think I do not care and that it is merely hard-heartedness that keeps it that way; I have told you before, I do care, and you terrify me beyond what any human being should be capable of. By all rights you should hate me, and I almost wish you did.
You I fear for because your expectations for the world and yourself exceed what any one person is capable of. This dooms you to failure from the start, which tosses you back into self-loathing and bitterness. It is a cycle I am incredibly familiar with, and one I am not particularly enjoying viewing in your life. You have talent and intelligence to spare, but you measure them by the wrong standards and you cannot seem to see them. Your friends would die for you, but in several of them you have sadly found the most loyal and simultaneously distant group you possibly could. This does not work well; you need constant reassurance that you will never quite believe concerning your worth, and these silent sorts simply cannot provide it. After much debating with myself I have determined that regardless of my actions or words, odds are great that I cannot ever do anything to make you happy. You will have to do that yourself. You are an incredibly strong person and I trust that you can, it merely remains to be seen whether or not you will.
You I do not know so well. But in you, I find a comforting presence, someone who does not judge. You are by nature laid-back and being in your company calms me. Despite my normal dislike of physical interaction with most people, I have the strangest urge to use you as a pillow. However, I do not doubt you'd probably try to shoot me or have some similar reaction.
You I concern myself with for reasons I do not fully understand. That sounds so harsh. But despite your constant efforts to convince me that you were not worth it, I do care very deeply about you. You make sense to me in a way that very few other people ever have. I suppose that means we are both messed up in the head. From the start, I trusted you, and I will probably never know why. I still do not know. You are the only person I have ever come to trust so quickly. Normally it takes years, with you, a matter of weeks. Being in your presence hurts. You radiate pain, did you realize that? Just being near you is like being stabbed repeatedly through the heart. Looking in your eyes kills me. But I do it whenever I can. In some self-centered way I suppose I imagine I understand the pain that I know exists in your mind and heart. And that is why. But I cannot do anything for you, either... and so I must sit back and watch, ready to offer a shoulder or an ear. An offer you will never take me up on, but one that remains nonetheless.
You I have known so long, yet never seem to fully know at all. Looking back, my feelings for you have remained, for the most part, much the same the entire time I have known you. You have probably caused me to inflict upon myself more pain than any other human being I have ever encountered. But you have also made me happier than any other person I've known. You, also, know he worse sides of me, the aspects of myself that I most dislike. They are the very things most people would have - and have - told me to hide from you. But I deliberately lay them out in the open, perhaps subconsciously half-hoping to chase you away. You did not leave. In spite of me, you seem to insist on caring about my well-being, which I do not understand at all. You are frustrated by my self-destruction through the various methods I've acquired over the years. I have accepted that I cannot change the way you think and feel, and I refuse to give in to the very, very tempting outlet of hope that you seem to insist upon giving me. It will not change. I keep telling myself that because it hurts too much to hope. It has hurt too much for too long, and I have simply given up. I suppose it is too late to change that now.
You disturb me because in so many ways you remind me of myself. Each of us knows more about the other than the other knows. Each of us has formed our own opinions based on our surroundings and interpretations thereof. Each of us presumes to know a hell of a lot more about the other than we really do. But we are so different on so many levels that I am often surprised we can even tolerate each other. We are each a study in contradictions and masks, presenting a fake to the world, another layer to each other, still another to those we so choose, and keeping the base matter to ourselves, unfit for the public eye. I have always envied your strength and your personality. Facade or not, it remains superior to my own, but it is too different and foreign for me to even attempt to acquire something similar. Despite what probably should be incredibly strong bonds, we have little real meaning to each other. We are both independent as far as those close bonds go, wary of connecting too deeply to someone. You deny it is even possible; I am merely afraid of it. And so we remain alone. But I worry because I see you slipping again and again, and I am fully aware that nothing I can do can help or change the situation. But I worry also because I see you slowly becoming more like me. And should that happen, should you become what I have and what I continue to be... I will murder you and write it off as a mercy killing. And I know you would want me to.
You... You I hate with every fiber of my being. You are the only person I have ever felt this incredible hatred for, and it burns so strongly that I pray to a god I don't even really believe in that I never feel this way about another human being so long as I live. It has taken every ounce of reserve I possess not to kill you; I satisfy that urge by hurting you whenever possible. But it is never enough, will never be enough to make up for the wretchedness that I am well aware lurks within your soul. You deserve death and worse and I do not doubt it will come to you in time. I eagerly anticipate the day some freak accident removes you from this earth.