At the time of writing it is 4:33pm and I’m beginning to realize that I am a lot more messed up than I thought.
I felt that I was becoming well adjusted enough, that I was getting along well and that the internal deescalation practices I’ve introduced to myself were doing their job. For the most part I suppose they have, I’m not fully convinced my boyfriend hates me and wants to leave me as soon as I sacrifice less than 99% of my being. At least, that’s what my conscience tells me. My subconscious on the other hand, is telling a different story.
I wish I understood myself better. I wish I knew myself better. I wish I knew where to start with the deconstruction, I wish I was sure that I was able to do it on my own. Ironic.
I guess I’ve just never fully conceptualized how deeply seated this part of me is. How foundational it is to my personality to have to give, to have to be strong for everyone but myself. I just don’t want to be a bother, so I do everything in my power to never ask for too much, if anything at all. I’d rather fade into the background than be too much for anyone. I don’t know what I want anymore. Ask me want I want for my life and I’ll tell you that as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Do you understand why I don’t know where to start now? To imagine myself wanting anything that has even the smallest possibility of inconveniencing someone around me makes me sick. I won’t ever. I’m in too deep. Let me drown.
The thing is is that most time they’re happy to do it. It’s just me. I have to be the bigger person.
My boyfriend—I had a similar conversation with him last night because I had brought something up to him that I was unhappy with (huge for me to even do in the first place, so I at least applaud myself for that) and he said some really beautiful, reassuring things, but now that I’ve brought something like this up I feel, in the deepest pit of my stomach, some kind of regret. I couldn’t tell you why, it was a very valuable talk we had. Afterwards I told him I loved him, we laughed and I went to bed. I cried quietly next to my best friend’s sleeping body for about an hour before I could even think about falling asleep, because I felt like a burden. I shouldn’t have said anything, it couldn’t’ve been worth it. I’m asking for too much, I’m positive this has jeopardized something. Jeopardized what, I don’t know, and I know none of this is true but really, I fucking don’t. I’ll believe my own lies before I believe a single word that comes out of anyone else’s mouth for more than an hour.
This is only scratching the surface of irreparable damage. I feel like I live within a heap of ruin stuck inside my own skull and I’m digging through scraps to get by. I don’t know what to do with myself. I have a giant, seeping wound across my chest that won’t heal because I will never, in a million years, think about asking for help. At the time of writing it is 5:10pm. Fuck me.
No comments:
Post a Comment