I give up.

I mean it.

I tried way too hard and in way too many different ways, but it's helpless and useless. I will never stop feeling this way and you just can't understand. So maybe someday I'll be ok with it. Right? My self-esteem is low as shit already, so no harm done if it gets even worse. Right?

I promised I would never talk about it again. That's ok too. Wouldn't change anything... same subject, different words. I've tried to explain myself in every possible way and still my point doesn't come across. You will always see it as me being jealous and afraid when it's only me having too many scars and bad memories that refuse to fade.

Making you unhappy would be even worse, so yes, I give up. I'd rather suffer for eternity than be the cause of your suffering. So let's really not talk about it ever again. Not only that, but let's pretend that we never even mentioned it. It's for the best.

And, since you don't want to help me kill then - and you are the only one who can -, I will keep on pretending that there are no monsters under my bed. For the sake of us both.

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