“There’s only one thing worse than wanting someone, and that’s needing someone. It’s when you batter and bruise and break yourself just so that you can mould yourself into being theirs. All the while tricking yourself into believing that it’s still good and wholesome and for the best, because this is what you WANT. Compromise is good and healthy, but too much compromise and you end up betraying yourself. And the most painful part is knowing that a few months ago, when you first met them, when everything was unblemished and naturally perfect, there was no concealing the bad. There was no bad. No one had hurt the other. The question is, how many times do you forgive under the name of love?
If I saw another person in my shoes, I’d tell them to walk away, to respect themselves, to make their mother proud. But perhaps I wouldn’t know the full story if I was an outsider looking in. An outsider wouldn’t know how painfully and impossibly in love with you I am. An outsider wouldn’t know that.
I can still smell the washing powder on your jumper the first time I kissed you. I remember how hot it was in summer. When we first got to know each other. Everything buzzed slightly, as if charged with electricity. The air tasted of excitement. I’d never done this before….
…. I like being yours. Although even there I am doubtful. I feel inadequate, which I hate. It leads me to think I’ve changed. I would have spat in the face of anyone who felt inferior in some way to another person, told them they were a miracle just for being them, and if no one liked the look of them then they just shouldn’t look. Because I know we are all superb creatures.
So why do I feel constantly…lacking? Not interesting enough, not clever enough, no way NEAR beautiful enough for you, blah blah blah. It makes me angry. How can my mind possibly be so conflicted? I know that exterior beauty is a sham endorsed by capitalism and advocated by stupid people. But I also hate myself. It hurts, feels as though my brain might tear in half. I love you. I want you. I want to be yours. But I resent that. No one should want that after what you put me through. After hearing what you said. I’m scared. Scared of just how much I’m willing to sacrifice to be with you, would I know when to stop? … I’m ashamed of that fact. I die.”