I’m not sure where to start.

You know I hate apologizing on the best of days, but admitting wrongdoing when I have no idea what I did wrong is torturous. Why should I apologize for trying to keep you safe?

You know I love you.

If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have told you all those truths about yourself. No one else had the courage to point out how your dark cloud engulfs others, chews them up and hacks them out like a pile of phlegm. This is why no one wanted to be around you -- why would they choose to feel like phlegm?

I was the one who told you, when no one else had the courage, that you take up more space than is owed to you. You seep into the hearts and minds of others and don’t bother to wipe your feet. You piss all over the floor and have the audacity to wonder why you get kicked out. Someone had to tell you! You needed to be stopped.

You may think I was kicking you when you were down but in reality, I didn’t want to see you get your heart broken again. You handle it like a hot potato and gasp when it ends up on the floor. I can’t be there every, single, time to shake you and yell that you shouldn’t be surprised anymore! You stage this scene so many times yet pretend you didn’t write the lines. A pathetic, miserable performance to watch.

So I had to tell you you’re unlovable. You forced my hand!

The evidence was all there, I just made you see it. All those who left, they never wanted to be here in the first place. All those who stayed, thrive when you don’t bother them. No one could bring themselves to look you in the eyes and proclaim what a sad sap stood before them, so I rose to the occasion.

Yes, I understand now that it gave you sleepless nights. Yes, I see that you’re still scraping off the burnt on residue from this truth. Yes, I know how deep of a hole my words made you spiral into.

But regardless, you crawled out! Stronger than ever! And had I kept my mouth shut you wouldn’t have done any of that work on yourself. You’re a better person now, and I’m to thank for it, not to blame.

And yet, I suppose I could have been more tactful. An argument can be made that I could have landed softer blows, ones that weren’t as ill-timed and didn’t cut as deep. I see now that every time I cut you, I left lasting damage on myself.

Why was I so cruel to myself? Even now I can’t fully own up to how badly I wanted to destroy myself, how deserving I thought I was of such destruction.

Yet a “sorry” implies recognition of wrongdoing, and a promise to not do it again.

I’m getting around to the former, but time will tell with the latter.