I’m sorry to write you this from a really low place. I’ve thought it over way too much and it seems now it the time all these feelings come out. I hate it. I hate the feelings and the confusion and the anxiety and even depression. I hate when I can’t get my mind to focus on one thing, but rather 500 things, poorly. But I think it’s best I tell you these things now, so should I ever cross your path and we meet, I can show you this and let you know I was already thinking of it.
I’m sorry for the days that I will be erratic. The days I tell you I have 5,000 things to do and I need to be up at 6am and home at 11pm and you’ll come home from work and I’ve been unable to leave the couch because that list I made in my head all night? Yeah.. it exhausted me and used every ounce of my energy before I was able to use it for something! I know. It frustrates the hell out of me, too. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for the days that you will find me curled up under the blankets and all I can say is I just need to be alone. I’m not mad at you. Not at all. Some days, as an empath, the world is so horribly awful that I can’t take it anymore. Perhaps I accidentally read too much of the news, or a conversation I overheard at the gym got too deep and it wore my soul down. Maybe I saw a stray dog and wasn’t able to catch it and I’m so worried he’s going to starve to death and just hope he’ll eat the food I went back and left out for him. Those days, the only thing I can do is hide away and hope the break from the world will give me the strength to try again. I know that’s so hard to understand and you won’t know how to handle it, and for that I’m sorry too.
I’m sorry for the times I’ll go through waves of depression. When I don’t laugh as much, I’m not so interested in going to bed with you, and I just seem like I’m going through the motions. You’ll stare at me while I cry over the dish I broke, which I hated anyways. You’re probably wondering why you’re with a robot and where “she” went. I miss her, too. I think of her all the time and sometimes I’ll count the days, or if it’s bad, hours, just hoping to see her again. She’s fun and lovable and nice to be around. You’re stuck with someone on autopilot thinking this isn’t what you signed up for, and for that, I’m so sorry.
I’m sorry that you’ll tell me two months later that I had told you I’d do x, y or z, and I haven’t thought about it once since I said that. It’s not because I don’t care, really, it’s not. It’s because if I don’t have a list to check off, I can’t often remember if I even put on underwear because I’ve been so worried about the elephants in Thailand or the dogs in Vietnam. You’ll ask me why I’m thinking about that- it’s been years since I’ve been there. I won’t have an answer, as my brain decided that’s what I need to obsess about the last month. It won’t make any sense to you. That has to be so incredibly annoying, and I’m sorry for that too.
But mostly I hope, should you exist, that you will love me through it all and I won’t have to apologize every time for who I am, but rather feel comforted and always accepted in your presence.
And that’s how I’ll know that I found you.