After some heavy thinking I have done in the past week or so, I have come to realisation that I have no choice but to cut you out of my life. I’m sorry it has come to that but just being friends and hanging out with was never going to be enough for me. I care for you too much to be around you without being with you both because it would be too painful for me and because I would not want to poison you with my misery.
I wish things could have turned out differently. I wish hadn’t pushed you towards the arms of another. (Definitely wish I had’t arranged for the circumstances where you two met.) I wish I could have been what you wanted me to be. I am not. Perhaps with time I could have changed, likely would have, but it is too late now and you could not wait. I wish you could have given me more of a chance; I wish you would be willing to wait… You are like an untameable mustang, a force of your own. Unwilling to settle for anything less than you deserve, you cannot be with one who isn’t what you want. There’s no blame for you in this; but the end result is all the same: we must part ways for I cannot bear for it to be otherwise. I would never presume to tell you whom you can or cannot date. But if I cannot be with you than I cannot be around you knowing that you are with someone else, seeing you with someone else, someone better.
All I ever wanted was to hold you close, to be able to say I’m yours and to call you mine. Alas, that is not to be.
I realise now that I should have been more open with you about my emotional health issues and more truthful about the cause of my idiosyncrasies. Not to mention that I should have sought professional help a long time ago. But it was easier to fool myself that I’m stronger than the depression that has been slowly suffocating me for the 20+ years. I would start new hobbies and get obsessed with them and they gave me great outlets for relief of anxiety and depression but whenever I would be forced to be by myself they would spring back up. Things became harder and harder to deal with over time. Even cleaning my room became a task of Herculean proportions. I finally have reached he point where I realise that I cannot deal with it by myself. I will seek the help. “I’ll drop the cross of self-denial,” so to speak. Regretfully for us, it is all too late. Perhaps, once I’m better we may see if there’s still something there but I will not ask you to wait. I will not be this unfair to you.
I care oh so deeply for you, my dearest, dearest girl. ‘Til better times, perhaps.