Yes, I'll survive, but do I have to?
...does it always have to be this hard?
The way all my skin prickles and it burns at the corners of my eyes, holding back the tears (somehow, if I clench my jaw, the tears stay back and I don't understand my internal plumbing if that's how it works).
I miss you all the time.
I see myself returning to the kind of person I didn't want to be anymore. That I thought I never had to be, with you. You, who I thought I dreamed into life. You, who held me and made me believe I could be seen, loved, even cured. You made me think I wasn't crazy. That if I just lived in an environment with enough laughter and patience, I would get to be the person I've always thought I just might be...
Everything feels, too much. Layer of jokes underneath. Smile, even when you're sad. Laugh, pretend it's all fine, smile, smile even if it hurts. Smile like you don't miss that person, like you don't need to dream of what your future might be (could be? might have been? I don't know my times or tenses anymore) just to breathe some days.
Stop checking your phone every 2 minutes. Putting notifications, stop waiting to see. Stop trying to think of something funny. Looking at presents. Buying the presents. Stop holding your breath and waiting for him to tell you you're good enough. Stop waiting for the sun to come out with his smile. Stop waiting for him to ask to see you. Stop waiting for him to say he wants you, hoping. Stop being so desperate. You stupid, desperate little discarded doll.
I miss you all the time. I said I would do this because you asked. You were so sad. You said I didn't appreciate you. Now every day I wake up wondering, did I say it enough? Show it enough? Am I trying too hard, saying too much? Don't say "I love you". Don't say "I miss you". Stop it. Stop being so pathetic.
Will anyone ever believe that I'm doing the best I can?
Was I just too much again?
I wish someone could come and stay with me. I wish I had a brother or a sister. Someone who could say, "Hey, I'm sorry, but she needs me. I have to go help her for a few weeks. She's not doing well. She's family. I have to help."
I do understand why nobody can do that. It's okay to wish, isn't it?
You used to hold me, cup my face in your hands and say that you see me, you see how hurt I've been, and you want to help and keep me from more hurt.
But now I am in this familiar place, the stench of jamais vu all around; smiling even when it hurts, desperate for your approval, and crushed in just a few words. "Everyone seems functional now and has some measure of happiness."
Yes, if that's what you need to think, then I have to say yes. Smile even if it hurts. Don't let him see how much all this makes you miserable. Don't talk about, don't think about, how the world you thought you'd get to live in seems less and less likely, more and more like a dream or a lie.
I think about how I've made these plans, and how I can't even tell him, because he doesn't want to hear until they're real.
By the time they're real, he'll probably love me even less.
And if he doesn't, I'll hate myself so much, would it even matter?
It's dying twice. Doing something I'm afraid to do. And I'm not able to tell myself there's a reward, there's a prize, there's a better life waiting for me if I do it. It's more likely that there's another speech, a broken not-even-a-promise, sorry but you took so long, I can't trust you. It will be allowing everything I tried to build to shatter, and then letting you hand me back my crumbling heart. Thanks, but no thanks. I've decided this is not a good fit for me.
It's dying twice, for no reason other than someone wants to see if I will.
And I'll probably do it, and I could probably live through it, but do I really want to?
Wouldn't it be so much easier to just sit at the bridge and wait until I'm strong enough? Surely there is no way to survive that height. Or something else, something painless, something that's just like going to sleep.
I thought this time would be different. That someone could actually love me, see something valuable in me, see the little things about myself that I hoarded and tried to love on my own, shine a light on that and say "yes, I like that too! Yes, you are worthwhile!"
That was the mistake, and so here I am again. Desperate for someone's attention. Smiling even if it hurts. I'm tired, and sad. Survival with so many scars and cuts and bruises, surviving in spite of more pain, what is the purpose of it?
All I want is to be happy.
Was I really...? Did I really take him for granted? I know I used to be that kind of person, but I've tried, I've tried so hard not to be. That's how I learned to be desperate. Maybe I haven't learned. Maybe this is just always how it's going to be.
I'm tired of being here again, that's all. It's always cold here. It's always quiet. I am tired of making mistakes. Maybe I was just the original mistake all along.
They will all be better off without me, but what a thing it is to watch them realize it.