When You're the Mistake

Nobody apologizes to you when you are the mistake.
No one sits you down, tells you it's ok, says I'm so sorry I hurt you. When you are the mistake, people only say sorry to those who aren't the mistake. Those who were wronged. But if you were the mistake, weren't you also wronged?
I felt sick. My stomach turned, I couldn't concentrate, I needed to lie down. I wasn't under any impression that I was his someone. She had been. She had felt special. She had so much more to lose then I did, and I was afraid of the judgment in her voice.
My faults were made for all to see. It wasn't just my secret. I had to open up, I had to be honest, because it was what was right. I shouldn't have had to be honest. It should've been my secret to keep. But he made it so I had to call her and tell the girl I barely knew my shameful secret. It wasn't shameful when I could keep it to myself and didn't have to worry about anyone else's feelings. I had been an instrument in her anguish. And even though it wasn't my fault, I had played a part. It didn't matter that it was unknowingly. I feared her judgment and the judgment of her friends. It wasn't just my secret anymore. I had shared it openly and honestly, and felt nothing drawing me back. But now that it was common knowledge I cringed. Who knows what they thought of me. I was dirty.
My heart felt ripped. The poison from the situation was slipping in the tears. I could not suffer two such injuries, each feeding upon the other. I wanted so desperately to cry.
I had all dignity taken from me, all because of him. I could have no happy memories of our time together because I was a mistake. I was never special, I was never real.
And in addition I was heartbroken.
So painfully heartbroken.
The man I cared about had hurt me, left me, and in addition I was in this mess. I hadn't moved on, I had just made it worse.
So tragically heartbroken.