Because there’s always one. And for awhile now, I accepted that it was more-than-likely me. At one point, I may have attempted to redeem this quality, or at least to take pride in the fact that, when it really came down to it, I thought I was doing–if not myself, then somebody else–some good. I took it in stride, my ability to care about people other than myself, to throw myself out on the line and put others before me.
Though the fact of the matter is, at least from what I’ve learned since this less-than-minuscule realization of mine, is that it isn’t always a good thing to care about someone. There’s no guarantee in doing so. Caring is putting yourself in the cross fire. Caring is getting hurt. It’s messy and, above all else, when it really comes down to it, caring about you sucks.
I think it’s because caring involves feelings; something that, if I’m being perfectly honest, is an absolutely terrifying concept. Why–as living, breathing humans–do we do this to ourselves, at least when we know the less-than-beneficial odds? More often than not, I’ve found myself cursing the fact that I couldn’t just caste my feelings aside. I’ve wanted to shut them down, along with all the inevitable consequences that came along with not only caring, but more so loving you in the unconditional way that I do.
After all, there’s no sort of guarantee when it comes to love, nor about feeling any sort of way that leaves you attached to another person. We’re unpredictable, almost toxic in a way. If there’s anything I’ve learned since the first day I made this discovery, it’s the fact that we shouldn’t have the sort of relationship that we do. We shouldn’t associate with one another. I shouldn’t care about you. Because like I claimed already, there’s inevitably going to be one person who cares more than the other person does, who feels more than the other person does. And in learning this, in learning that I care more about you than you do about me, I’ve found that I’ve given you the uncanny ability to break me down and, above all else, to destroy me.
And I suppose it’s not really fair to pin all of the fault for that on you. You can’t necessarily break down the unwilling. I need to allow you to really tear me down, to get under my skin, I’m the one who gives you that power. I fall victim to my own ability to hand that over to you; in fact, I hand it over on a silver platter, almost with an invitation of sorts. I’ll take the blame for that one. Your ability to do so is my own fault.
It’s for that reason that I envy anyone who can bury their emotions. I envy your ability to not care nearly as much as I do. Suppression is an art form, as far as I’m concerned. My inability to do just this is a further indication of our dysfunctional relationship, and therefore of my own personal desire to let you go and push the very thought of you away.
If I was able to wake up tomorrow and pretend you don’t exist, I would wake up a new person. Perhaps a healthier person, a better person.
But because I can’t do this, and because you’re the sort of person that I think I need, all I’ve done is just grow to resent you. I think that’s why our relationship is the explosive whirlwind that it is. I hate the reigning power that you have over me, to make me care in the way and to such drastic lengths as you do. My thoughts towards you have bounced back and forth from love to hate so many times that I can barely even tell the difference anymore. We’re hot and cold until the build-up explodes. The explosion being, of course, the one where I seem to be the only one burned.
Because you see, you’re the only one who I can care about in the way that I do, despite all of the shit and the awful emotions that come with it. As hard as it is to care about you, I think it would be harder for me if I lost you. And so I continue to put myself through the turmoil of you and me. I let it eat away at me, and I continue to accept all of the qualities that make us us: I care way more than I ever should, and you may never be capable of reciprocating this.
Maybe you’ll prove me wrong. Perhaps one day, you’ll push back at me, making me feel something on your end for once. Because wishful thinking is another attribute of caring. The difference is that I don’t think you could ever force me to regret that one.