To the petty one, hears a letter from an adult

Whilst I do spend an obscene amount of time, of which I don’t seem to have a lot of, obsessing over acting like an adult, when it comes to having to deal with adult problems, I’m just beginning to learn that sometimes, crying is allowed. However this then leads to a second and slightly larger problem: I cannot, no matter how hard I may try, cry in front of someone. This almost brings its own warning; if I start to cry in front of you, run. You have truly hurt me. Furthermore, if you walk in a room with just me in it and I appear to be “having a quiet blub” as my mother so eloquently puts it, please do not disturb. Finding a quiet place is hard enough. I hate to be disturbed.
Now some may argue that this is not true and my crying is most definitely a sign of attention-seeking. This may be true. But for now, leave me be. I’m a stressed teenager who doesn’t cry often.

Anyhow. I currently find myself in a difficult position. Having gone through a rather rough time with a personal issue, I am faced with the conundrum that, having been warned and I didn’t listen, is there any use in me trying to warn the next person? I have tried to plan out in my head multiple times different ways I could phrase this so that said person will pay attention. But there is nothing useful lingering in my perforated brain.

And in my opinion, why should there be? The turmoil and heartache I have been dragged through is more than I should have to handle at my age, and sadly there is no one to blame but me. It is now I realise just how much acting like I’m ready for adulthood has prevented me from being a child and learning valuable life-lessons. Even then, nothing could have prepared me for what you did. No life-lesson had a section on this, as you were too skilful, too witty. You’ve learnt the life-lesson and improved it to your level of required hurt. You’ve played this game before. And the sad thing is, I was told, warned, that this is what you do, but darling you did it so much better than you’re given credit for.


I wasn’t expecting it because you’ve learnt how to get exactly what you want. You agreed with me and said exactly the right things; I hung off of your every word as if your voice was a drug and I was hopelessly addicted. Yes, you did leave, but why when you came back with an update in your game, should I have hesitated to love you once more. Because who would expect to be taken back for a dare. I was just a game, a mere fragment of adrenaline to help you pass the time. I was “the girl” and being ignorant as I was, believed it to be a compliment. But it wasn’t. “The girl” was the girl you would prove your skills with. A circus act or masculinity and lack of communication soon showed your friends and you realised I was finished with.
But at least I can say I behaved like an adult. When I saw her, yes sweetie I cried. Well done, you broke my hope of ever putting faith a voice. But I didn’t fight. I didn’t allow myself to burst or to break. You were the always the petty one. You lacked the ability to act like an adult. Unable to bear breaking it off, you strung me up like a puppet and watched me dance away like an idiot whilst you walked in the opposite direction. But let me tell you, dear…

Don’t you think an inability to be alone truly makes you the man?


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