I know I am broken when I look back at my past. I can catalog the people who have hurt me, whether they actually did or whether I made it up for whatever reason my twisted mind created, I have a history of crawling back to them. I am so lonely and unable to make friends that I cling to the ones that tolerate me and hope that they don’t wake up and realize what a bitch I am. I am broken.
There is only one person I haven’t crawled back to. Yet, I still feel the need in my chest when I see them to go back and apologize and take the blame. I believe that when I meet someone and care for them I give them a piece of myself without caring for the consequences. So even when they break me, when I try to leave them behind I feel empty and lost.
There are others that truly did nothing wrong and yet I feel so much hatred for myself that I create conflict between us in order to make myself feel pain. Never do I think about how I hurt them when I create these rifts. I am the most selfish person I know, without a doubt. I say cruel things without thinking, I let my temper run rampant. I blame others when I should take the blame myself. At my deepest foundations I am an awful person. I try to lie to myself sometimes to feel better. I tell myself that I am not that bad and that maybe I am someone other than who I am.
I never realize the consequences of my actions until afterwards either. I say something or do something and immediately after realize how awful it was of me to say it or do it but it never stops me from doing it again. I incessantly apologize but only for shallow things and only because I am desperate for attention, for validation and for compliments. I have never once felt wanted or loved and crave that feeling, so I go to those who put up with me and put myself down until they feel obligated to try and make me feel better. It never works.
I don’t even know why I am writing this. Maybe it’s for myself to try and get rid of that aching feeling in my chest, or maybe it’s for those I take advantage of but will never be brave enough to fess up to it. Maybe it’s me realizing that after I escaped my abuser, I turned into one.
I could not tell you when this habit began but it definitely did happen pretty early on and just like the other weird thing my head used to do just to survive and cope, like creating an imaginative person to bicker between so I could better express and verbalize my feelings. That and I did
I didn’t really want to write this; especially so soon after my last post. I was determined to kick the habit of writing out my feelings and the intent was to take a good hiatus from this site in general, but for the very reason I want to keep this site here.. to keep some
Having a very morbid thought of life, I often have the view that life here is pointless, because eventually everyone who knew you will forget you. Unless you do something truly amazing, or evil (Hitler or Stalin), you won’t be remembered that long after your death. That’s inevitable. Your life story won’t entirely be told,