It’s probably one of the most difficult moments: to feel like you’ve killed yourself by not writing when, for how many years, you’ve relied on writing for your sanity — a little act of therapy for people with chaotic minds like mine. For the umpteenth time, I’m ranting about not writing, its difficulty, and my sanity — my emotional stability or the lack thereof.

*   *   *

I have broken another promise: to not run away, to not push you away when I’m hurt. You know me. I’m that type who’d go through sleepless nights, arguing with you. Still, you know very well that I’d choose that over not fixing the problem. You know I want to keep that communication with the hope that I get to convince you to talk back — to make peace with each other.

But not this time.

I tried to rationalize why I decided to not talk to you. I told myself it was me getting even. After all, you were the first to take a break from talking without any notice. That one hour, I turned into a day and probably even longer. I tried to justify my action as that, but who am I kidding? It wasn’t that. It was because I just didn’t know what to say.

What do you tell someone who doesn’t acknowledge your points when you argue about something and just ignore that there’s still an existing conflict in your world? What do you tell someone who didn’t even bother talking to you about what you’re feeling, who didn’t even bother understanding why you got upset, who didn’t even appreciate that you actually gave out a decent conversation instead of just being a bratty bitch about everything? What do you tell someone who constantly tells you “No” on things that would make you sane? What do you tell someone who isn’t open for a conversation anyway? What do you tell someone who denies you of little things just because it hurts his ego? What do you tell someone who doesn’t know how to negotiate? What do I tell you?

I didn’t talk to you because I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to listen to another “No” nor did I want to hear your impatience, your lack of understanding, and your lack of selflessness. I asked myself, “Don’t I deserve it?”

I’m sorry I got tired. I feel like I’ve exhausted all the care I could in this relationship and I didn’t leave anything for myself. Not even pride. I feel like I shouldn’t have run to chase you and convince you to make up. I feel like all my efforts were left unreciprocated. I’m sorry I’m letting this die, but I’m not sorry I’m choosing myself this time.

I know you won’t give what I want. I know you won’t concede. I know you’d tell me you’ve done enough too. I know you’d let me walk away and you’d sit your ass there and wait for me to be the one to approach you again — to reach out and tell you, “Hey, let’s talk about it.” I know you think you’d tell me you didn’t do anything wrong and that you’ve already done your part. After all, I was the one who didn’t reply. I was the one who decided to stop talking. I was the one who decided to give myself a break.

And I know that you’d tell me you have better things to do than argue over another petty thing. That you have your thesis, your upcoming exams, your backlogs. And I’d tell you now, you didn’t have to give it time. I didn’t need conversation — I needed action. And I’d probably keep on ignoring you until I get tired of being cold, or maybe until you give me what I want, or probably until I lose all that is left with me for you.

I’m saturated.

I’m exhausted.