It’s hard to talk. It hurts to breathe. It feels like I have to choose between saying things and breathing. I’m uncertain I can do both. Everything feels too hard and so unfair. I feel desperate and cannot seem to grasp and hold on to any one thought for too long. I feel extremely impatient, worn out and resentful. Nothing feels fine.
This path through life feels hard. I don’t know where it’s heading. I don’t know when it ends. It brings me through strange places with strange people that I can’t always recognize. Nothing feels like it’s where it is supposed to be. Something always hurts.
Around and around and around it goes. Hurt……Anger….Fear…..Numb……Hurt…..Anger….Fear…..Numb. I am so tired of it all. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for this life.
My parents weren’t up for the job and couldn’t give me what I needed. They left behind a hole that is deep inside of me that I must somehow learn to live with and adapt to. It was their responsibility, not mine, to make sure there never was a hole. Them, not me. They decided to create me and by making that decision they had a responsibility to at least try to do their best. It wasn’t supposed to work the way it did.
It feels like someone just yelled out “hey, you over there. Make sure you have some kids and show them just how shitty the fucking world can be. Make sure you ignore them and beat them and pretend that nothing is happening. Make sure that when they’re teenagers you remind them how much they have in life and how much you sacrificed for them. Make sure when they’re young adults you tell them just how easy their lives were, and to stop complaining because they turned out just fine.” That’s not the way it should be. Your parents are supposed to be the people who you can count on for anything, not the people who hurt you and not the people you fear.
I despise all of it. I feel hurt and alone.
I want to go to T and say ‘make it go away, make it all better‘ like a child would with a broken toy or a scraped knee. It feels like he is the only person who can fix things. But, he does not belong to me. He is not mine. He is not my parent and I am not his child. We are not family. The day he decides to retire (which will have nothing to do with me), I won’t see him anymore. No matter who comes after, it won’t be him, and he won’t be there. It will never be the same and that feels completely devastating. It just really, really hurts. It is just so fucking unfair because these feelings for him shouldn’t exist and none of this should even have to happen. My heart aches because it feels like once again what I need, I can’t have.
I never wanted to rely on him. I never wanted to have to pretend he was someone he wasn’t, just to fill this huge hole inside of me. I want my own person, a person who doesn’t leave. I don’t want to have to worry that that person is going to leave me. I’m tired, I’m tired of being so scared and I just want my own safe base. My bonds were fractured. Broken. Not severed but definitely broken. I know that if I had had that person as a safe base, then I wouldn’t have to feel this fear of him leaving me all the time. He wouldn’t matter so much to me, because I would have someone else as my most important and enduring figure. People leaving me wouldn’t be so upsetting to me, because the core people in my life would still be there.
I will not text, or e-mail or call T. I won’t die if I don’t….although it sort of feels that way. I hold my puddingstone in my hand–the little conglomerate that T gave me–but it feels just like any other rock. It doesn’t feel special. It’s no longer warm. It no longer feels like him. I want to throw it away.
I just want to know that there’s this safe place and no matter where I am in the world, I can go back to it – always. That no matter what I do… there is one person who would be there and it would be okay.
How does a person choose to live in the wake of their scars, knowing that they will never go away?