You know what sucks? I can't legally see my therapist until I'm 18. Since I'm not in any immediate danger, not intentionally injuring myself or considering suicide, I've got to wait. And I know it's not their fault, but it still sucks.
And I really need a therapist.
Now that I've finally admitted I have a problem, I'm anxious to start fixing it. When I finally get to pour out not just my heart or my mind, but my soul, I hope I discover how to be at peace.
Because I'm not.
I'm tormented by memories that won't leave. They keep me awake late at night and bring tears to the surface, tears I don't want to shed. And of course I have to write about the memories, and that just hurts worse. I think I could make them leave, if I wanted to.
I don't want to.
I never thought I'd cry for you. Even after all these years, I haven't figured out how it works. Why I can know some people for years and not feel very much, yet know others for weeks and care so deeply. It doesn't make sense. I don't know why I cried for you.
But I did.
More than once, but I'm thinking of the last time in particular. And I realized that my cell phone has seen more tears than anyone except God. But now I'm determined to be strong. I'm not crying over the past anymore.
But I still thought you should know that the last tears I cried were for you.