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"I was reading some previous diary entries about him and my conversations with him. And now I'm thinking: how much of what I was telling him was true?

I remember that I liked to play with the words and to write him texts; I remember that, deep inside, I was annoyed by his little obsessions, obsessions that I was claiming I love. And I remember that I liked to strike his chords.

But with every message I realized I impressed him, something was gradually dying inside of me: my interest. Yes, my interest for him was fading away. He wasn't mysterious at all, he was always telling me everything I wanted to know.

I proved myself that this is not the nice way. The worse part was that he had the same expectations from me. Say what?! 

I don't like to put myself on a tray in front of you, because you'd run away. The proof? My emotional issues. I let them manifest in front of him, and he cowardly disappeared, leaving me a...text message."

Originally written: Jun 2015

"I was re-reading the post above, and thinking how much truth I was writing there. It would have been possible that I exaggerated.

But no. I did not exaggerate. I was feeling like that since a long time ago. Even since I was in a relationship with him; but I was ignoring, denying this, accusing myself of selfishness and irrationality. I liked to control his feelings so much. 

Now that I'm sober, mentally-wise, I admit that this is what I did: I played with him; I used him to get over my wounds and frights. And I won. I'm healed."

Originally written: Dec 2015