Why I Did It

This post was written 11:16pm 21 July 2009

Once there was a girl. She was seventeen and had the perfect life; the was beautiful, she was smart, she had the best boyfriend that anyone could ask for. She also had a wonderful social life. At least every second weekend she would gout and party; get completely drunk and have the time of her life. She always felt safe though because her boyfriend was always by her side to keep her out of trouble. After one particularly big night out, it was four in the morning and she had to leave a party because she had an exam on the next day. Needless to say, she was completely off her face and in no fit state to do anything really. However, she knew that she had to get home so she got into her car and started the engine. Her boyfriend knew that she was in no fit state to drive and he offered to take her home. However, she being a stubborn girl, told him that she would drive. After a short argument, her boyfriend let her drive. After all it was only around the corner..

She never even saw the truck coming.

She woke up in hospital to the quiet ‘beep, beep’ if a heart rate monitor. Her mother was crying while she told the girl what had happened.. How the amount of alcohol she had consumed that night had affected her inhibitions.. how she had gone onto the other side of the road.. How the truck couldn’t break fast enough and sent them into a tree..
The girl listened to all of this in stunned silence. But she knew something was horribly wrong..
She asked her mother about her boyfriend, where was he, was he ok? Her mother just shook her head, silent tears running down her face,
“Oh honey, he died in the crash.”
The girl just felt her world slip away. She felt everything come crashing down around her. She felt her heart shatter into a thousand pieces.

Her only injuries had been a large and deep cut in her left forearm made from the windscreen glass. But her more painful injuries were not physical. She knew that it had been her fault that her boyfriend had died, her fault that there was one less person in the world, her fault that he died before his time. She blamed herself for everything so much that she spiralled down into depression and caused her parents to be so concerned about her that they sent her to a councillor. The councillor helped her to understand what happened but not to blame herself for it. Eventually she was able to get her life back on track; she finished grade twelve and started a uni course. One day she looked down at her left forearm and realised that she could barely see the scar where she had been cut in the accident. When she looked at her arm, everything came back to her. She recognised that she could have avoided everything if she had just done the right thing..
From then on she never got drunk and never let her friends drive drunk either.
She learnt from what had happened.

Thats the best why do describe why I wrote that blog. Writing it was like looking at my scar – remembering and recognising everything that happened and putting it all behind me. I never meant to hurt you by writing it and even while I was writing it I knew that there was a possibility that you would read it.. and it hurt me again, knowing that you could be hurt. But I knew that I had to write it so that I could forget everything that happened.

You can never get over something if you don’t recognise fully what that something was.

The one secret I was determined to keep from you was how much you were hurting me, because I knew that letting you know this would hurt you and I could bare to have you in pain. Thats why I never stood up to you because I knew that doing so would cause you pain and I just couldn’t do that to you. I rathered that I was in pain than you were. Somehow, I stupididly managed to convince myself that you reading that blog wouldn’t matter, because you would still understand that I love you so much. I didn’t realise that yes, you do realise this but that my blog would cause you so much pain that, for now at least, whether I love you or not doesn’t matter.

Im so sorry that in healing myself, in writing that blog, I broke you. I can only hope that it will be quick healing and not leave a scar.
I never realised that the words ‘I love you’ wouldn’t hold enough value to show you how I feel. But I do love you and I more than love you.