I'm glad that I was right.
I'm also really ... hurt... that I was right.
I'm glad that my perceptions were on the mark, accurate... I'm just sad that they're also only on the mark and accurate because I think so little of myself to begin with... and apparently... so did he.
It makes me appreciate what I have so much more.
It makes me feel... lucky.. loved.
I asked if he still wanted to attempt this talking to me thing and he couldn't understand why *I* would want to talk to him. He was feeling full of self loathing, disgust...
It's okay that he thinks I'm ugly as sin.
He's still fun to talk to.
And it's more for him, not me.
It doesn't hurt or sting anymore.
I'm just being a confessor because he really needs one. Really.
And I feel good feeling that role.
Because All I've wanted from him is friendship. From the get go. All along. It was the miscommunication... his assumptions... his reactions that propelled this into badness.
I'm okay with that.
We aren't going to be tight ever because there's so much shit about me he's NEVER going to understand... but that's okay.. because I don't NEED him to be my confessor or my best friend.
That's already taken care of.
Thinking about all this last night... it's what prompted me talking to him and getting these things out of him.
It's also what prompted that phone call to Chad at 4 am to let him know that I knew how lucky I was...to let him know just how much him loving me meant to me. How his acceptance is wonderful.
If I'd been deformed or something... Chad would probably still love me.
He wouldn't clamor for naked pics quite the same way... but he'd still love me.
Knowing that most people could never ever do that... puts just ONE MORE gold star next to his name.
I love him.