Sometimes, I miss the cigarettes. I miss the booze. I miss the blade over my skin. Mostly, I miss the avoidance. I could wrap all of my unsettling feelings up with a nice little bow, and pretend they didn’t exist.
I am not blind. I see this world around me, and it is everything I ever dreamed of, prayed for. I have the husband that loves me, a beautiful home, the freedom to do what I choose, security. If I were anybody else, I would be perfectly content with this.
But I am not anybody else, I am me.
I just cannot seem to grasp it, the peace. I feel like I am floating around this place, watching life unfold, unable to anchor down. There is always fear of losing it all.
The thing is, they seem to have won. All of the hurtful, mean, hate-filled assholes that ever said or did anything to me, seem to have won. Their words and their actions carved holes into me that just cannot heal. I hear their words everyday; I see their actions every night; I put my head down when I walk, knowing in the back of my mind that everyone is laughing at me.
I cannot release or detach myself from the daggers they have thrown. My self worth? It is barely existent. I try, oh how I try, to build up some belief in myself. To see something beautiful in the mirror, to find courage and conviction in even one of my beliefs. But it always comes back to them.
There was never much about me that appealed to anyone. I was strange. Weird. Different. An outcast. Ugly. Fat. Too loud. Too quiet. Annoying. Slutty. Selfish. Too selfless. Unstable. Crazy. Some people would try to tell me that they loved me, warts and all … but even that stung. Because I thought that those “warts” were supposed to be the things that made me, me .. and should have been the most cherished parts.
It was only two years ago that I met my husband and finally had the chance to just … rest. I could stop running. I could just sit and contemplate. Or avoid. Or dig. Just put everything in perspective and take a giant break from the life that had taken everything out of me. Two years is not a long time, and it has not been nearly enough to silence those voices. It will take more time, and more time after that.
So many nights I hope that I can find that little girl inside, and tell her that none of that stuff was true. But the day brings the old habits back, and I will apologize for everything … feel guilty for anything. Those people wounded me … will I ever heal?