I've decided to start a couple of installments of writing I've done. It's not great by any stretch of the imagination, but it's therapeutic for me so enjoy and feel free to comment. It's not intended to make sense to anyone but me so keep that in mind.
My fingers glided quickly across the keyboard, each stroke bringing me closer to the point of no return. I didn't want to take any of it back or second guess myself. I typed blindly, from the heart. I didn't want to apologize to anyone, especially myself. This was the second time in two weeks that I had told someone that my life would be better without them.
I'm not sure if I was ever in love with Jared. He fought me on it because he knew he couldn't love me back. Not now, and perhaps not ever. Falling in love was the next step. He was constantly pulling me in and pushing me away. There was unending evaluation and re-evaluation and I always felt under scrutiny, so frightened of making a ruinious mistake.
I had fanticized about our life together for over a year and did not want it to fail. I needed him to love me and I needed him to fill a void that had been left by years of emotional neglect. If I could just get him to say those three words, I would be cured. I would not be alone or unloved anymore. It was so simple. I became so determined that it didn't matter how miserable our relationship made me. He was looking for something, too but neither of us knew what he wanted. I wanted so badly to be for him what I needed from him. I grappled and wrestled and struggled until I realized it needed to stop. I was the only one with the answers.
I was beyond feeling lost and beyond feeling tired. I was floating in and out of consciousness but still going through the motions. Everyday started to get a little easier than the one before but I still felt numb. The guilt started to creep in after the anger faded away and I sought out reassurance as if I was desperatly trying to understand myself. It took me weeks to realize how much it hurt and how I still hadn't healed from all those years ago.
I'm not sure when I started to care so little for myself. The utter disregard I had for myself was astounding. I would never treat another human being with such loathing, but I continued to exact that punishment on myself. I took no pride in my eduation or accomplishments. It mattered little that I had graduated in 4 years despite a crippling depression and dropping out of college in the midst of my freshman year. I hated that I had anything to be proud of. I didn't deserve to be happy.
At some point in my childhood, I had failed to learn that a mistake or lasp in judgment was almost always forgiveable. Faults were faults and perfection was without them. My mother felt that I was a perfect child and I still try to live up to her expectations. It is consuming and tiring, leaving very little room for error. I have internalized her wishes and replaced her prescense with them.
I have always had this drive to know all of the answers. There are bits of information that I've collected as defense for potentional debates. I'm obsessed with being prepared because perhaps my preparedness would hide how little I thought of myself. My insecurity ran deep, and if I could prevail in any situation, the resulting temporary confidence would fool and confuse everyone, including me.