It’s not about you anymore

I’m tired of writing about love. I’m tired of writing about heartache.
Somewhere in this naive and wonderlust mind I believed that my words mattered, that they made a difference and they had an impact. I’ve realized I was wrong this past month. Not just about my influence but about a lot of things. I was wrong to believe I was invincible and that I was more special and unique than everyone around me. I have to play by the same rules as everyone else and that means I don’t get whatever I want and I have to choose to keep going through life with this knowledge.
Sometimes, no matter what the superficial appearance of things may be, the people you love do not love you. And perhaps the worst hurt of all is the false hope you cling on to that keeps you going through every excruciating and gray day. You fear that letting reality destroy that hope will kill you. And it just might but do you want to live life for a lie or face the hardest question of all: live without them or not at all?
I’ve battled with myself in a constant war of self worth and I can say there is no answer to that question. You can end your life, turn out the lights and fade away into whatever the afterlife may look like but the only one you can do that for is yourself, and as I have learned the hard way- dying is not easy and your body will do everything to keep you alive.
Living is harder. I believe that the bravest and most unappreciated souls are those who face their demons and keep going. You don’t notice these people or the depth of their pain, even if you are one of them. One of the most frustrating things about being human is living life in a constant first person stance. You can never truly get out of your own head and you can only relate your own experiences to others in order to feel a connection. No one really understands anyone else and if they tell you they do they’re lying.
I’ve clung to this idea of what I’m supposed to be for so long I lost who I really was. Programmed by chick flicks and rom coms I thought my savior would have stunning eyes and a deep voice. My first mistake was placing my own heart in the hands of another for a sense of validation. No one can make you whole, you must be the one to complete you and you must deal with your own pain when the time comes. They never tell you this but you really are on your own, no matter who you fuck or how many friends you have, not even your family can follow you beyond the grave.
I’ve felt ashamed of my heartbreak and of my constant need for the love of another human. I mistook sex for love in a different way than most, I didn’t fall in love because of it but I felt that the intimacy in itself was as close as I would ever be to what love is. I’ve never valued myself much and that is something I will continue to struggle with, maybe forever. But I have realized that I don’t need it in order to feel close to someone. I don’t need to let people undeserving of my body touch me because I long connection and safety. I can find that in myself, and if I fail at least I failed no one but myself, untainted.
I let my soul be broken and it led me astray. I haven’t conquered anything, in fact, I’m still finding my way back but I’m trying.
This time, for me.


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