From A Collection of Unrequited Love.
By: Bridget Zhang
I wish he could see me. I wish he could see my pain. I wish he knew how sorry I am. I wish I could just touch him again. I was so close to him. I could feel his sweat. I could have grabbed him and kissed him. I want to tell him that I love him. Everything I did is about I was hurt and that I love him. He did nothing. He did nothing. I wanted to hurt him because I was hurt. I was hurt because I loved him. He did nothing. I want him to stop tormenting me. I want to stop caring. To stop feeling. To stop hurting. To stop wanting. I want to stop loving him. Why do I? Why can’t I? I am bipolar after all.
Perhaps I’ve always had those daddy issues that never got worked out. Perhaps I have never had a man to truly care and love me. Every time it does happen, I want more than they are willing to offer. I wanted them to pay the more price for what I am worth. I am worth nothing. I barely even deserve their care. As someone told me, “I am the last resort”. I am not even worth being used. I am not worth anything. I am bipolar after all.
I can slap myself in the face a thousand times a day. I can beat myself up every day. I can have him break my heart over and over again. I loved him. I hurt him. Nothing can change that. I guess I get what I deserved. To lose something I loved the most. Him. Dancing with him. Being his angel. I am bipolar after all.
I wonder if he ever thinks about me. I wonder if “they” ever talk about me. And what do “they,” say. That I am crazy? Perhaps I am. I am bipolar after all.
No one can understand. No one knows why. They only see what I have done to him. I love him. I couldn’t get him to love me back. I was hurt. I was hiding a dirty secret for years. I loved him every day and know one knew. No one ever knew.
Perhaps I wished that he would find out. Perhaps I wished that someone would show him everything I have ever written. Perhaps I wished someone would have understood. Perhaps all I have been wrong is loving him in the first place. Perhaps I want him to at least read it.
I shouldn’t have. His taken. His married. He has a life. He has a family. I couldn’t help it. I cried so much every day and every night. Every time I saw him I hated myself. I hated my feelings. I wish they would go away. I prayed to God to please kill me before I killed myself. I am bipolar after all.
every dayso hard? Why can’t I breathe? Why do people talk about me like I am crazy? They don’t even know me. No one knows me. I can pretend to be strong. I can pretend not to care. I can pretend to shine on stage. I can pretend that people are actually clapping for me. But they’re not. They are not clapping for me. They do not know me. They do not care about me. They do not see me. I don’t see me. I can be suffocating on stage, and no one would come and save me. I wonder if people will miss me if I just disappeared. To be alive is a punishment. Death would be easy. Earth is Hell. Slitting my wrists would be easy. Putting a gun to my face would be easy. I won’t have to deal anymore. I won’t have to love him anymore. I won’t have to hurt anymore. I am bipolar after all.
I can’t stop reading his text messages. Back and forth. Front and Back. I beat myself up. I miss him. I need him. I am sorry. Just tell me what to do. One look and he kill me. I loved him. He did nothing. I wanted to hurt him because I loved him. I love him. He did nothing. One look and he kill me. I could feel his sweat. One drop of his sweat on my arm as he brushes by. Being in the same place as he just feels safe. Does it? Is it safe? What are they saying? What are people saying about me when they see me? I act like I don’t care. But I do. I am bipolar after all.
Loneliness has a new meaning. When one person doesn’t love me. Forget my family, forget the few friends that I actually do have. He doesn’t love me. I can’t have him. My loneliness is never ending. I am bipolar after all.