''He broke your heart, he took your soul. You're hurt inside 'cause there's a hole''.
I found myself struggling lately between wanting to write and get things off my chest, finding some meaning in the madness, in the ridiculous sea of emotion I can't even begin to understand. But, more often than not I feel like I forgot how to do it. I feel like I don't know how to express myself.
I feel like things are so messed up and it's so hard to find solid ground. Instead of growing together we're growing apart. Instead of moving on we're stuck in one place, running in circles. Pretending to care, pretending to love, pretending, pretending…
I always say how over thinking is dangerous right? Your mind spirals out of control, creating scenarios and ideas that can't be further from the truth. I keep saying my mind is my own worse enemy. Kinda. Family doesn't help. I keep thinking how can women stay in abusive relationships without realising I'm in one too. It doesn't have to be a relationship to be abusive. I kept going back to three basic questions ''am I the problem?'', ''is something wrong with me?'', ''will I ever be enough?''. Yes, yes and no. The issue here is though that everything that's wrong with me is not my fault, it's what the years of subtle abuse created. I guess I never had the chance to be normal. Well ''normal''. I realised a lot of things lately when I saw how everyone gave me distance, when all I really needed was love.
I've been having trouble sleeping since I was real young, but it got way worse lately and someone told me that sleeping requires peace which is why I aint getting any. Ironically, he was probably right. Peace is the one thing I don't know. Nor relaxed. Nor happy. Nor okay. The closest to it that I do get is hearing ''oh it's going to be okay'', over and over and fucking over again, but the truth is, it's never actually okay. None of it. Nothing.
I keep getting compared to other people, how I should do this, I should do that, I should be better, different, I should be like other people. I find it ironic because it never was me versus other people, it is me versus me. It's about me doing better than I was last year. I'm not. That's a fact. But someday I might. So the only person I should be compared to is me, myself and I. Wishful thinking. It's like, if you don't follow some fucked up rules of society of how life should be, if you stray from that path, bam something is wrong with you. Aren't we all different? Aren't we all individuals? Why should we lead identical lives? Why does it matter how I live as opposed to my neighbors? Why do they stick their stupid noses into my life all the freaking time when in reality they don't know a single thing about me but what they see at first glance…which I can only imagine what their conclussion gives them from the outer appearance…why do people feel the need to gossip? If you have a problem with me, how about you tell me instead of gossiping with my family and adding up lies to the list too. I don't know do people enjoy, causing drama to others? Maybe they enjoy listening to us argue and scream at each other after they cause a problem.
Looking back at my life…I can honestly say I've been hurt more than I've been loved. I never felt like I grew up in a loving home. Honestly. I never felt loved by my friends, rather the ''last option'', I never felt like I was loved as I loved in relationships. I've been punched a lot as a child and even later, because you know that's just something you do to discipline kids, it's normal, everyone does it. And I never up untill recently understood that that's actually physical abuse, even if nothing shows on you…it's not okay. Parents actually tell you to ''stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about'' and think that's good parenting. But from the early start it taught me to solve my problems with violence which resulted in more violence. Or ignorance. We don't talk. We ignore each other and give each other ugly glances. We put each other down with words that hurt far more than hits, and you're never allowed to complain about it, because ''you're a big girl, you can handle it'' it's always brushed off as no big deal, wasn't meant that way, it's just something it's done….but like, it's been piling up for so long and…I mean is it weird I'm so fucked up that I don't understand relationships, friendships, normal human interaction? Is it weird that I constantly doubt myself? That I feel like nothing I do is good enough? That I feel like I will never be good at anything. Never achieve anything. Is it weird I don't seek out people, friendships, relationships, when I know (or at least expect) it'll only end up in hurt. For me.
I had spent my entire life being made to feel stupid for liking things I like, the art I like, the music, the movies, made to feel stupid for caring too much about things that others don't care about. Being accused of being crazy or obsessed when in reality it was my only escape from the reality I lived in. I spent so many nights crying alone because crying is stupid, and you're an idiot for doing it, and it's just not something you do, you suck it up, you're not a fucking pussy. I spent so many days contemplating just how to disappear so I'd not be a burden to anyone no more. My mental state right now is at a point where a stranger could ask me if I'm okay or give me a hug and I might completely break down. The number of days when I survived on my own without telling anyone about it is just…I better not say.
I keep hurting myself by loving people I shouldn't. By finding excuses for them when they don't deserve them. By not being able to let someone / something go, when I should. I look back at a certain thing, certain point in my life and it's not the fact that it didn't work out that hurts so much. It's that we both walked away, knowing that neither of us wanted to walk away. I guess I always thought love is that magical thing that can fix everything. If you got love, you don't need anything else right? It'll all work out right? Love is enough to make you fight for it right? Wrong. Life is never as black and white. I think coming to realisation of just that, the fact that love will never be enough, the fact that things don't work out no matter how much you might love someone, I think that is what killed me bit by fucking bit, murdered the hopless romantic in me. Made believing in love or anything remotely conected to it impossible. To be fair all I ever wanted was the family I never had but realising now, I also never will. As I said above somewhere, straying from the path, people live different lives, maybe happiness truly just isn't meant for all of us.
What am I actually in love with? A person? Who I was with them? The idea of love? The life that doesn't exist? At least for me? The happy family life I see in movies and social media? Though I'm aware so much of it is fake…maybe that's what I'd like, to just pretend for a little while. Fake happiness is better than no happiness right?
People say they hate the words ''what if''. You know which one I hate? ''Almost''. It's everywhere. It won't let me sleep at night. It wont leave me alone. Almost feels like home. Almost changed for the better. Almost did something. Almost got something. Almost made it. Almost happy. Almost. Almost. Almost. Almost but not quite. Not now. Not yet. Not ever…?
It's ridiculous how movies make heartbreak romantically poetically beautiful, like you're sitting on the couch drinking wine, eating chocolate with your friends, a random movie is playing and by morning you're good. Ready to face the world. What the fuck? It's nothing like that. It's more like staring at red digital numbers of your clock at four in the morning because the anxiety won't let go of you, because your mind can't shut up, because the thoughts of not being good enough are swarming in your head, because the thought of that other person is so strong that as soon as you close your eyes, their face is all you see. Sometimes it's trying to swallow down tears each time you're walking around in public and gasping because there's this huge fucking gaping hole in your chest making normal breathing impossible. Sometimes it's staring at old pictures and conversations trying to understand where and what went wrong. It's nothing like the movies. There aint nothing romantic and beautiful in heartbreak no matter what those beautiful old rock songs say.
I guess the conclussion is that I am just different. Different than my family, different than the people I chose to surround myself with. And I think nobody ever took the time to understand, to talk, to care. People love to judge, hate, put down. If they can't force you to be like them they will rather hate you instead. And I guess I never met my family's expectations of me, so making me feel horrible and worthless for it is the logical solution. And I guess I never met expectations in relationships so not fighting for it was easier. And I guess I never met expectations of people who see friendships different than I do. I guess I never met any expectation and I guess I never will because truth to be told, I don't know how.
Problem is how to move on? You can't chose family and I can't even begin to understand how to love someone when every night all I do is dream of someone I can't have. People think I'm pretending, like nobody pretends to have depression, people pretend to be okay. I learned that everytime I speak up about what hurts me I get hurt even more so I just learned to shut up about it. Point here is I don't really know what's going on but it's a lot. Too much. And I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to fix me.
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