Where do you draw the line? When everyone keeps taking from you, when do you make it stop? When do you decide enough is enough? I have become a life guard, there to help people who are drowning. Recently, I have noticed all those I try to help are flailing too much and are pushing me under the tide in order for them to rise up. Of course, it isn’t purposeful, but it doesn’t dismiss the fact that is happening. As they catch their breath, my lungs fill with water. I’ve learned to swim, and I am pretty damn good at it, so why am I drowning? I have given people pieces of my foundation in order for them to build up their stability. I learned to build my home, quite strong, so why is it crumbling? I realized, I was giving away pieces of myself hoping that if I gave enough away I would disappear. Turns out, you don’t disappear. You just become used and exhausted. That’s right. They used me. I wasn’t being generous, they were being selfish. I made excuses for people because I believed all they needed was a little help and I thought I could be that help. But they didn’t want help, they wanted someone to hold them above the water. And I realized the more exhausted I became that I was spending my strength to spare someone else’s heart ache. I was carrying their baggage on my back on top of my own and I apologized every time it slipped. Can you imagine? Apologizing when you were already carrying their load. I built myself up and I chose not to be the victim of my life but the hero of my own story. It’s time for everyone else to do the same. My whole body is shaking. Anger is seeping through my skin. Anger for all of the people who have used me and then blamed me for their short comings. Anger for the people I supported but smothered me in their own disappointment when I wasn’t looking. I cannot keep hurting myself for people who want to soak in the stench of the parts of life that didn’t work for them. And I WILL NOT be angry anymore. I have had enough anger and I refuse to hold it any longer. I don’t have room in my heart for it. My heart will forever overflow with love but I will not distribute it to the people who throw it in the backseat leaving myself with nothing. My love does not come with conditions but there is no warranty. When you break it, it is gone. But when you accept it, it can grow flowers. I would know. I can see it in myself sometimes. I used to think it was others planting them. The ones I thought loved me as much as I loved them, but it wasn’t. It was me all along. Of course they died quickly because I wouldn’t water them. I’ve never been good at keeping plants alive. I never could agree with someone when they said that you can’t love someone else until you love yourself. I always believed that was a lie and I still believe it is partially a lie because I haven’t loved myself in a very long time but I have so much love to offer. So I gave it to others. While giving away so much of my love, even to those who didn’t deserve it, I learned to love parts of myself. The happiest parts, the most selfless parts, the most open parts, the parts that saw the best in people when everyone else refused to. That has gotten me hurt quite a few times, but it is the part of me I love the most because if no one else can see beyond the flaws to the most beautiful parts of someone, at least I could and hopefully I helped others see it too. Wanting to fix people. such a problem. A large reason behind of the aforementioned. Something I should to learn to do more sparingly, but for some reason I really don’t want to. My empathy makes me, me and if it is the part I love most about me, even if it hurts so, I cannot change it. It’s the only part of me where I can keep the flowers alive. Taking care of yourself is important and there are so many different ways to water your plants. My way might hurt sometimes, but its filled with love and will never again be overshadowed with anger.
A million words and my mouth can’t form any. A million thoughts and they remain unspoken, locked away in my mind without ever being released into the world. I can try to let them escape, to release them so that they can run to you but my body shakes in resistance. As I reach for the locks guarding these thoughts all of the words dissipate. With no words to sew together, I have nothing to give you. You ask me to tell you, to share myself with you, but my body will not physically let me. I will try to stabilize my voice for you, but even then, there is nothing to cross my lips into the air. Sometimes i wonder if we are all allotted a certain amount of words and I have run out because someone else is using mine. I want to give you my words but someone has already stolen them. I wish to share all of me with you. I want to give you all of the darkest and brightest corners of my soul, but my chest has a padlock that not even I have a key to. Please don’t mistake my silence as me not caring or not having anything to say. There is so much I could say but nothing that I understand enough to help you understand. Sometimes I believe I am not thinking anything or that my mind is moving too slow to string together words, but I think it is moving far to fast for the rest of me to keep up and I can’t even manage to reach and grab a few words to make a sentence. The whole world is rushing by and I can’t manage to make any sense of what I am seeing. Sometimes you manage to slow it all down for me. To make all the world disappear, but even then, I am so overwhelmed by what is happening in front of me. You want more from me than I can give you. Maybe one day I will be able to give you what you so desperately want, but until then, I am sorry.
Have you ever held something in your life so important that you could never think about losing it? Something that feels so perfect that you could never imagine it breaking? Me too. It built me. It carried me when I couldn’t walk. I held it closer to my heart than any part of my own self, but now I can barely hold it in my hands without it crumbling to pieces. I think I might have held it too tightly. I didn’t mean to, but it is turning to dust. Or is that ashes? Did it burn? Am I the one that burned it. I tried. I tried really hard to take good care of it, but it has turned into something not even I recognize. Something I held so dear has turned into something so toxic for me. The soot from the fire is clouding my eyes and I can no longer see the destruction it is causing in my life. It is burning my lungs and is coating the walls in darkness. I think it is trying to destroy me. This thing that I loved so dearly is becoming my most painful memory, but I cannot let it go. My arms are chained to its foundation. Detaching yourself from emotions, they say, is bad for you, but if I am about to be demolished I do not want to feel anything for this thing that caused it. I do not want any love left for this thing that has torn my soul to pieces. I loved it. I didn’t leave it on a shelf. I carried it in my pocket and showed everyone how beautiful it was. I was so proud of it and now everyone will watch it ruin me. It is turning me inside out and allowing the world to see the most vulnerable parts of me before consuming them into the darkness of its grasp. There is no leaving and there is no going back. I am learning that love can only be toxic. There is no version of love, for me, that is not there to destroy. I give my whole self to love and when it succumbs to the darkness there is nothing left for me. Nothing left in this lifeless human shell. I willingly gave myself to it and I must suffer the consequences.
All I wanted was to be wanted. To feel like I was important to someone. And I still do, but I am comfortable with myself to not need someone’s attention to function. I was wallowing in my self-pity and I thought the only way to not be lonely was for people to pay attention to me, and trust me, I have manipulated myself to be able to get exactly that, but I am finally pulling myself out of that dark hole of despair. The best part is that as soon as I can finally do that for myself, someone decides to prohibit my progression. I wanted you to need me and you didn’t, but as soon as I can move on, you say you need me. If your goal wasn’t to drag me right back into that wretched confinement you are doing a horrendous job of showing it. It feels like every time I am ready to walk away you pull me back and I am forced to start from the beginning all over again. I am exhausted with your endless games and I would just like to take a rest. Stop using me then throwing me away. I know after this you are going to push me back to the side like you always have and I am going to wait there patiently until I am just ready to fix myself. Which will be conveniently right before you “need” me again. I am so over being used. Like I said before, I will not stress my life to be a crutch for yours.
I feel sick. The last time I felt like this it ended worse than I could ever have imagined. Last time I felt this sick I was left with a scar on my wrist that looks like a line terminating my existence. But, yet again, here I am. Nine years. Nine years between us and somehow we have managed to make this out of our lives. Two days and you make me think about every waking moment of my existence and question every choice I have ever made. Is this my fault? My stomach feels like it is consuming itself and someone’s hand is reaching down my throat to stop it. I am alone in this and I do not know how I got here. You are kind. You are sweet. But even the day I become legal I am the same person that I am just the day before. One day does not change me. So why is it then and only then that we can be? I do not think this can work but for some reason, I cannot say no. This is my fault. I got myself into the situation. You do not make me sick. I make me sick. I am repulsed by the thought that I can be so ignorant and so willing. Though you are okay with this I am not. But I will not tell you that because I am weak. I will continue and wait until I become so sick of the thoughts going through my head and you decide that whatever this is cannot work. It is always me. I will always get myself into this. I am my own problem. I am my own worst fear. I am sorry just as sorry as I will be when we end this. I am sick and I do not know if I can live with it.