Wanted

My roommate, and probably one of the closest friends I've ever had (I have other equally close friends, if you are reading and feel slighted), transferred out of our school. What made our relationship so strong was a mutual struggle and promise to do this life thing together no matter what. I put a lot of hope in having someone to lean on who also understood my experience. I have other friends I surely can lean on but none that understand it like she does. That doesn't make this friendship 'better', but it made me stronger. And I had been doing immensely better just having that person who says 'me too'.

Now, she's gone, and we hardly ever talk. Partly because I don't pursue it. I am still grieving, in a sense, a loss. It hurts to open up the wound when I would rather forget I was ever hurt. She doesn't reach out either. I don't know why. Maybe for the same reasons. Maybe she wants to give me space, because she knows she hurt me. Or maybe, and this one is what really gnaws at me, she didn't need me in her life like I needed her. And she is off making new friends and having a ball, because our friendship wasn't real. Because she didn't want me.

I know her. I do. And that means I realize she would never purposefully hurt me or pretend to care. But I also have experience that rises to the surface when similar events reoccur...like losing a friend.

When Amy and the rest of that group decided I was not one of them anymore (to be fair, I was being a bit of a jackass...but I was also having a slight mental breakdown from carrying the weight of abuse, loss, depression, self-harm, and an eating disorder), it broke something so deep inside of me that I can't find it, or consequently, fix it. I am destroyed by guilt from my inability to function as the compassionate, kind person that I know myself to be. And I am equally broken in realizing that, as Amy so angrily put it, they only ever saw me as 'an acquaintance' when I saw them as 'best friends.' They weren't invested like I was. It didn't hurt them much to give up on me, to discard me. They, after all, still had each other, the people they truly cared about. And me? If they had really invested in me or cared, they would have given me a second chance. That is what love often means. But they didn't. They didn't want me.

The same happened with Nick, my first and only boyfriend. I loved him. I realized the other day that, after the breakup, I tried to pretend that my feelings were also fake. That I just enjoyed being in a relationship, but I didn't really care about him, like he never really cared about me. But I did. I loved him. And now, as the anger and hurt fades daily, I see him and realize that I loved him and something inside me still does. He may have been pretending, but that person he pretended to be was meant for me to love. But again, he wasn't invested like I was, and so, he discarded me. He didn't have to hurt, because he didn't care. He didn't want me.

My brother, at least, never pretended. He was pretty straight forward about how he felt about me from the very beginning. And through the abuse--physical, emotional, mental, (and sexual, but my subconscious is nice enough to let me forget it)--he showed that he didn't want me. My own brother, my own family didn't want me. My other brother never abused me, but he shows me time and time again that his wanting me comes with conditions. He doesn't want me, not the real me, either.

My best friend my first year at GC was the same. I invested so much in our relationship that I saw only to her needs and ignored all my other friends. I just wanted someone to want me in their life. Even better, to need me like I needed them. And then she transferred, and we would talk occasionally but only about her. And when Nick and broke up and I needed her, she shattered me with indifference to my pain. Me, the person who invested so much in her. She didn't care. She never cared. She wanted the undivided attention I gave. She never wanted me.

The same kind of thing happened with Mandie. She was fine when I was doing everything I could think of to be a good friend to her, but the minute I do something that hurts her, without realizing I was actually hurting her, she doesn't want me in her life. Honestly, this is a win-win, because I realize that she wasn't ever all that invested. But it does make me wonder. What exactly was my place in her life if it's so easy to get rid of me? If she had no desire to fight for our friendship? It didn't mean anything to her. I fight for what means something to me. She didn't want me.

And I could go on and talk about my mommy and daddy issues or my issues with my church family, but you get the point. I am debilitated by the idea (and it might just be an idea, not a reality, I know) that I am not wanted. So, in every relationship I try to have, I tend to ruin it, because I can't believe that I am wanted. That I am enough. And so, when Rachel transferred this semester, I felt that familiar sense that I belonged nowhere and to no one. That throughout my life, no matter what I do, everyone else will have someone who wants them, and I will go home alone.

And I realize that this is taking for granted the people who have been there, always, no matter what I've done. But this fear, it tells me that even they will grow up and have families and move on from me. They tell me this is just how life goes, and that's true. People go in and out of our lives all the time. But most people have some consistency, whether it's a family member or a spouse or a child or whatever. I am afraid that I will never have that. That no man would ever want me. That my family has never wanted me, at least not the imperfect version of me. That even if I had a miracle and could have children, that they would deserve better. That my friends will all eventually reveal that they too never truly invested. That they too never wanted me.

So, I do the same thing with God. I fear that He doesn't want me, that He never did and never will no matter how hard I try to be enough for Him. I just want to be wanted, not for what I can do for someone or what I offer but just because I am me. Is that selfish? I am sure, if it is coming from my mouth or my mind, it must be selfish. But I need proof from somewhere that if I died today, people wouldn't be upset, because death makes them fear for themselves or their loved ones. Or because death makes them uncomfortable. Or because they'll miss everything I did for them. I need to know that people would miss me. That not having me simply present would hurt them. I don't care that Rachel isn't here to drive me places or to make me cocoa or whatever else she did for me. Honestly, when it comes down to it, I don't even miss that she made me stronger. I miss her. I miss her presence, because I love her. I miss my old friends, because I loved them. I miss Nick, because I loved him. I miss God's presence, because I love Him too. Will anyone every feel that way about me?

I am sorry to always, always be so whiny on here. But it's how I can vent without being needy in real life. Because people don't want needy people.

Lost Cause

I don't exactly know what's wrong with me today. I have been doing exceptionally well lately considering how much I usually struggle. But man, this evening has included a lot of tears, a lot of full-on weeping. It could be the episode of One Tree Hill I just watched, because I do get pretty involved in their lives. But I don't know. It's something else. I think watching it just triggered something.

When I think of what it's like for me at my darkest moments, what I see is a little girl curled up on the floor, crying and afraid. That was me sometimes when I was little, and Nate and my parents were fighting. Or I had locked my bedroom door for protection, and Nate was using a screwdriver to break into it. I can hear the banging and yelling and the shaking door handle on the other side. And I can see the slits of light pouring in from the moon outside of my windows. And I can feel the rough carpeting and smell the dust that has settled under the dresser beside my head. I can feel the beating of my heart and the desperation of my breathing. But most of all, I feel the weight of life pressing on my body, and even with the inevitable danger, I want to fall asleep. It takes everything out of me, the weight does, and I have nothing left to fight with. I don't care what happens to me, just as long as I can sleep.

This is me sometimes, even though Nate is long gone. I feel that weight of life, and I don't care about what I do or what others do or anything else. I just want to sleep. I feel the weight of my future, of all the decisions that I'm forced to make even though I have the aptitude for life of a five year old. Who ever thought I could handle anything on my own was very optimistic but ultimately, very wrong indeed. I feel the weight of my past, of everything that has been done to me, of everything I have done and cannot ever forget or forgive, of everything that remains a secret in my tired brain, because who really cares about any of it? I am so sick of being needy. I am done needing. I feel the weight of everything I am not and never will be, of everything I am expected to be that I cannot live up to, of everything that others see me as even though it is far from true, and of everything I wish I was and hate myself for not being. I feel the weight of this broken, corrupt ball of planet that has no hope of improving, of all the violence and hatred and pain and sickness and death that everyone experiences every day. I feel the weight of my emptiness and such an unfounded sense of loneliness that comes from all of this unfounded pain inside of me.

This weight never lifts, and I think I deserve that much. I deserve it, but I cannot handle it much longer. I am a totally lost cause. I just wish everyone else could see it, because once my worst fear is recognized,--to end up alone and unloved--then I can sleep for real.

I try to sleep in this life, but it gets harder and harder. I struggle to fall asleep every night and am exhausted all of the time. When I do fall asleep, this war in my mind causes my sleep paralysis to get worse and worse. My mind wakes up, but I cannot move my body. It is the worst terror I have ever felt, because along with it, comes the sensation of suffocating and hallucinations. It is not a new thing in my life, but I don't know what is breaking inside of me that is making it worse. Still, I know it has something to do with all of this weight. It is stealing the one thing that lightens the load. I need to sleep again soon. I am so tired in every way. I need help, but there is none, and I am done being needy. I am a lost cause, I am afraid.