I didn't ask for this. For him. I didn't want this either. But I needed it. Needed him. He was the bandaid on my gunshot wound. Maintaining everything, doing his best for everything to be alright. To appear alright. He did his best but his best wasn't good enough.
Like a bandaid, he could have healed any cut or bruise. Covered any scars. But this wasn't your average injury. This was unresolvable damage. I was unresolvable damage. Broken. There were times where everything looked fixed and ok. More than ok. These were the times where the bandaid was absorbing most of my blood. The times where he held my burdens just so I could feel okay for a moment longer. But only for a moment.
He loved me but I didn't love myself. I loved him but I didn't deserve to love. It was better for him to go. Bandaids become covered in blood if they are left on for too long, they themselves can become damaged. I couldn't let him become damaged.
I didn't deserve him. I knew that. I needed to push him away, to hurt him, to show him how toxic I was. Every person who comes into my life leaves without a life of their own. He wouldn't listen to my words. My warnings. I had to show him. I was dirty. I felt dirty. My past was dirty. My future is dirty.
A bandaid might have done a sufficient job. It might have done the best job. The best job it can do, that is. But it eventually needs changing. It may persist to stay even if cannot take anymore. So, you must change it. Even if you don't want to.
You can't expect a bandaid to heal an unhealable wound. But I guess I didn't realise that I was dealing with a bandaid and I didn't quite understand just how unhealable my wounds were. Especially when they just continued getting deeper and more infected.
I loved Nick. I love Nick. He made happy but now I am immune to happiness. He carried me through the times when I needed carrying. His strongest attempts had the weakest outcome. But this had nothing to do with Nick. This wasn't personal. I didn't deserve him.
In the darkest night on the brightest day. The last page on the last chapter. It all came to a halt. There comes a time where you need to rip off you bandaid. And so I did. I was left vulnerable and open and even more damaged. I traded a bandaid for an open wound. Once I had ripped off the bandaid there was no putting it back on. It was too contaminated, it had lost all its stickiness, lost all its means. I was left unprotected and ready for more hurt. And only then did I realise that a little protection was everything compared to none. I had made the biggest mistake.