My Lost Connection

I’ve lost myself. I’ve forgotten to accept who I am. In all my bullshit and complications and demons and I just buried those for the sake of what? Seeming more put together and well-rounded? What the fuck does that even mean? I’m a fucking mess. I am much more evolved but really, sometimes I still feel like a 14-year-old fat girl. Or that scared little kid that’s puffing her chest out to keep from falling apart. That’s me. Dad what do I do? How do I get rid of this fucked up feeling that I have no idea who I am or where I am without accepting where I’ve been? How do I unhide all of it to be me? I am not defined by my past but I need to embrace all of it to move forward. In anything.

He told me he found someone else yesterday. He found someone that he truly enjoyed hanging out with and I wanted to die. I wanted to kill myself and I couldn’t breathe. I felt like my chest was about to cave in and my legs were going to give out underneath me. I was at work and ran straight to the bathroom. I wanted to fucking scream and throw shit and lose my mind but I just tried to breathe and keep my vision from being blurred. I hated it. Why wasn’t it me? WHY NOT ME? WHY HER? OR ANYONE?

I had been there through everything, I couldn’t understand it. It’s fucking 6:30am and I’ve slept for a few hours and I see it clearly. I wasn’t myself when I was around him. I tried to be the girl he wanted and tried to be someone that wasn’t me. I tried to be perfect without being who I am, accepting my past and truly exposing the shit I’d been through. I was this shell of a girl with him, day in and day out and I don’t know why. I felt like if I was myself, I would lose him and I did in the end but it wasn’t because I was myself, it was because I was some other fucking girl, something that I truly had no idea about. A person that unravelled. She was an ideal self maybe? Or a more silent, mature self that I wish I could be. No. I’m not that girl.

I’m a girl who laughs really loud, that drinks too much and probably is more cynical and fucked up that she leads on to be. I love deeply and obsessively and all-encompassing. I can’t handle extreme drug use in movies and writing or tv because it reminds me of my sister’s darkest days and I can’t handle stories about suicide because it reminds me of my dark days. I hate little kids and I hate floral print. I love my mom and sister and I’m in this huge world alone, scared out of my mind. I do everything on my own which I love but I hate knowing that I feel alone at the end of the day. My mind takes rapture and it drives me insane, I can’t shake feelings easily, I take things personally and I am in love with him. I feel overwhelmed and panicked and anxious in my brain but don’t show it on my face. Except maybe that sweat on my forehead that I’m willing to go away every second it’s there.

I feel like I haven’t been through enough because I don’t remember a lot of my childhood. I’ve blocked certain things out because they hurt to think about. I hate thinking about the time Mom was in the mental ward of the hospital and I used to bring her flowers and lie with her until she felt okay. I hate thinking about the days she was on prozac flying through the malls, hands shaking and thinking what the fuck is happening right now. I hate thinking about the days that Dad would gamble so much he wouldn’t come home for days and the first time he did it, we thought he died but he just forgot to call us. It was a nightmare and I hate thinking about all of it because it makes my brain heavy and my heart hurt a million times over.

But that’s me. That’s all ingrained in me. I am predisposed to all of this, it’s in my DNA. And I can’t run from it anymore. And I shouldn’t because it’s what affects me everyday and the way I love and choose to bring people into my world. It’s a direct reflection of all of it. I love you, for everything that you are because you make me want to break down my walls now. You went away and now I see what the problem was. I wanted so much to get to know you but I forgot to get to know myself and it hurts, in the deep pits of my stomach to let you go because I have no choice, but my walls are crumbling, they don’t hold up anymore. They are of no use to me, I am falling down too with them because they don’t lift me up or weigh me down. I need to come to terms with all of it.

I want to sit outside your house until you come out and tell you all of it. I want to tell you everything and be a crazy person and make you stay. I want to tell you lies and stories about other guys so you think I have this amazing and exciting way but I can’t, the world doesn’t fucking work like that. I am insane but I know it and I accept it and I love it all. All of it, every last dark drop of it. I feel ashamed of it sometimes but I can’t let that feeling seep into the cracks too much, it’s poison.

I don’t know what I’m going to do next, I want to call my ex and tell him I’ve been a fucking moron and beg him to take me back. I won’t because that’s fucking untrue. I don’t want to be with him, it would only band-aid what I’ve exposed and I don’t want to hide it anymore. Living through these feelings doesn’t feel good right now, it’s excruciating but I can’t run from it anymore. I am broken and wounded, just like all of our world. We all have things we can’t run away from even though it would be easier to. I can’t bury this any deeper. This is the part where I stop running and swim in the mud, drown a little bit in the quick sand. And try to breathe through the bullshit. I need a fucking drink. Or five.