For What It’s Worth
For what it’s worth I didn’t mean the things I said. It’s imperative that you know this. Maybe there’s something to be said about the fact that I have to say, “I didn’t mean the things I said”. If I’ve said it before (and God knows I’ve said it before) does it still hold the same weight? If I go around doing the same things over and over do they lose their meaning after time? For what it’s worth I meant those times, the times when I said those words, the three words. You know the ones? Maybe it doesn’t seem like it now, maybe it never seemed like it, but I meant them. I’m an asshole, and not a very good person, but for what it’s worth I don’t consider those excuses for the way I am. I don’t expect you to think that I think it’s okay to be that way because maybe I “just don’t get it, but that’s okay. No one does so you get a pass”. I’m considering ways of fixing this, among other things, but mainly just this thing for now because, for what it’s worth it is important to me and I can’t/won’t/will mess this up. I don’t think I quite understand what happened, but in another sense I understand completely what happened and why it happened and happened one-two-three-four-too many times until it happened for the last time which was already too many times in a long line of “Things You Shouldn’t Do Ever No Matter What The Case May Be”. I don’t sleep, for what it’s worth, but that is not an attempt at pity. It’s just fact. I could tell you why but you already know. I could tell you what I take to put myself to sleep but, again, you already know. I don’t eat the way some people eat when they’re depressed so that’s afforded me an extra hole on my belt. Soon the clothes will hang in a way that people will think I bought them two sizes too large. I’ll have to buy new clothes but, for what it’s worth, I won’t take anyone to come with me and tell me what looks good and what doesn’t the way you did. I won’t write anything negative about you, for what it’s worth, because you know I’ll write and it will be about you. When I’m alone and not doing anything I’m doing everything I can to not do anything, especially the following: call you, text you, write you (the aforementioned almost always prefaced with several alcoholic drinks). Sometimes I will race myself and the game will be to see if I can pass out from drinking before I decide it’s a good(bad) idea to try and contact you. I never win, even when you might think I win. I haven’t won in a while, for what it’s worth. I lost in triumphant fashion but, for what it’s worth, I don’t blame you. I can’t and I don’t think about that. Regret is a mighty brick that hurls itself through the glass windows of my infantile brain almost every day and every night. I’m changing, for what it’s worth, at least I’m telling myself I am. I’m trying. I’ve been trying. I’m perpetually “almost there”, but it’s a game of chutes and ladders and I’ve taken all the ladders away. For what it’s worth…I miss you. I’ve been missing you, even when I had you, when I knew I would mess this up, and mess this up again, and again, I was missing you. I think I’ll stop now, for what it’s worth, because I was never deserving of what was worth having. I’m still not.
