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dear m,

you know, that article you read ( had some profound truths in it. there are some things mentioned in there that you have never thought of. admittedly, there was even that one part that caused a few tears to stream down your face. yes. it is a moving article that is close to home. for the most part.

i suppose i disagree with the title, though. as a woman who has been to hell…as a child who lived in hell…as a young adult who willingly entered hell…you never really come back from it. you will never fully get rid of the remnants of hell that automatically attach to you upon entering. not here on this earth, anyway. not by your own power. the darkness from hell will shadow you for the rest of your life.

“what if it isn’t my fault i was in hell?” it matters not. sometimes children really do suffer the sins of their fathers. sometimes we all have to suffer the consequences of other people’s decisions. i was born into hell. i grew up in hell. i continued my life in hell. you cannot jump into water and not get wet. likewise, you cannot be pushed into water and not get wet. to a point, with this anyway, fault does not matter. once you have been to hell…you never fully “come back.”

the very article supports my belief. if you did come back, you would no longer be damaged. you would live normal, breathe normal and love normal. you would not be hindered by a world of torture. freedom. you’d be free.

hell is with me wherever i go. darkness surrounds me day and night. the wounds that were caused from the people in hell, the world, the very air i breathed there…are life-threatening. some wounds have been mended. only the scars remain now. some wounds are still healing. there are the wounds that never healed properly and have caused me a lifelong limp. and finally…the wounds that simply won’t heal. never say never, i suppose. however, some of these wounds have been hemorrhaging my entire life.

it is true that i am not easy to love. i have heard that over and over throughout my life. most have found me not worthy of love, as well. not worth the effort it takes. not worth the time it takes. certainly not worth the passion it takes. nobody wants to love a broken toy. no one wants to own a shattered vase. toys can easily be replaced. vases glued back together never hold water the same again. most people prefer to just buy a new one. my reward does not outweigh my risk. yes. i am hard to love and i am not worth it.

some have tried. they mean well. they do their very best, i’m sure. but it is true, loving me is not for the weak. you don’t love a broken person like you love a whole person. loving someone who does not love themself takes a skill that most do not possess. this skill? a special kind of love. a love mixed in with genuine like for the broken person you wish to love. in addition to not being lovable, i am not a very likable person, either.

i am, at times, filled with inner rage. violent. it comes without warning. much like a tornado, it just drops out of nowhere. it destroys everything in its path. the difference between me and most? my rage, my violence is centered on me. my rage and my violence stems from the most sincere self-hatred you have ever known, and will ever know. you will never meet anyone who loathes themself more than i do me. at times i do lash out at others. a little secret? when i lash out i feel awful for doing so, almost immediately. and 99% of the time when i lash out at another person, it is, in part, because i do not feel…at that time, at least…that that person loves me. the unlovable take love very seriously.

also, i have no problem admitting that i am insecure. no sense in trying to deny it. a blind, deaf dog can figure that out.

i do test those that claim to love me. for that matter, i test everyone in my life to know where they stand, who they are…how they will treat me, etc. but i test people mentally, not emotionally. anything done emotionally is not intentional. i am emotionally stunted and, therefore, not really equipped to test anyone on an emotional level.

for the most part i am gentle. gentle and silent inside and out. fear of abandonment can rile me pretty fast, though. i become rattled. unhinged. chatty. nervous. the gentleness is replaced with anxiety. not much i do or say makes sense during these times.

i always want the person who claims to love me to be close. i am not for sure i have a fear of suffocation. for the person i have in mind, suffocation has certainly never been an issue. lol. suffocation has only ever been an issue with my mother. she is mentally unstable.

ownership. that is something i take issue of. ownership in a negative connotation. ownership in a demeaning connotation. ownership in a loving connotation would be something i would thrive in.

i do stay awake at night trying to figure many things out. but i never want him to leave me alone. his presence never smothers me. i am never enough.

when i push you away, pull me closer.

i am afraid of everything. take my hand and never let go. it’s that simple. if i try to pull away, grip my hand harder. if i am trying to pull away from him then i am up to no good.

this next part was spot-on. i truly never know anything these days. i feel alone. empty. scared. i always need him “to read [me] like a book with worn pages and a tattered spine and be what [i] [need] when [i] [do] not know [myself].

and this,

she will live in fear of not being enough and always being too much—an endless battle to find the middle ground. ashamed if the scale falls one way or the other, ashamed to be herself for no one has ever loved her both when she is small and also when she is tremendous.

i understand unconditional love better than anyone. it is primarily how i love. to love the people i have loved over the years…conditions had to be ignored. you have to understand love on a deeper level, even if that means accepting pain along with giving love.

here is the big difference. i do not expect to be abandoned. i live in constant fear of being abandoned. there is a huge difference. i do not have any truth written on my heart that says that i will be abandoned. if i did…i would never love anyone ever again. ever. the pain would not be worth it.

i never seek to sabotage or destroy any relationship. ever.

it is never a deliberate act to make a relationship difficult. it is never a deliberate act to drive anyone away. yes, i am scared. yes, i do get terrified. but in those real moments…they never know. i freeze. like a deer in headlights i freeze. my voice is taken from me and silence surrounds me. sometimes people mistake my fumbling to keep them as sabotage…but it isn’t. it is just me being me. neurotic and insecure. numb with fear. beat down my entire life by those who never loved me…but always said the words i love you.

words mean everything to me, though. partially because that is how my mind works, partially because in my heart i am a writer. i have to hear those words “i love you” repeatedly. i do. i doubt them, but at the same time when i hear them from certain people…there is a part of me that feels them. not saying them equates not loving me, as ridiculous as that is. of course, those words aren’t the only words that i need to hear. and actions matter, too.

i do judge the present and the future based on the past. but i don’t judge each person based on the people in the past. when similarities arise, however, between the present people and the past people it is hard for me not to panic. and i am a pretty observant person. i notice the small things. they matter to me. to a normal person they wouldn’t. a normal person wouldn’t even notice. but i do. it’s who i am.

being afraid of abandonment doesn’t make me an awful person. it makes me sad. it’s hard to go around in life wondering all of the time.

it’s also hard going around life knowing that you aren’t worth it. i’m not worth the effort, the time, the anything. that i am not an easy person to love. that i am not a likable person. that most people just pass on me altogether because i am damaged goods. it’s hard when people assume the worst in me all of the time.

when i love, i love. when i am afraid, i’m afraid. there is no deeper malice inside of me. there is no surface malice, either. i am simply a shattered vase. no more and no less.

fuck off.


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