My mom told me I need to hang some stuff on my walls so it looks like I’m staying put. She took my suit cases from my room, and every time we argue, she tells me she’s afraid I’ll run away.
I never realized I was so much of a flight risk.
I have deeply rooted attachment issues. Usually my friends pick on me (lovingly, mostly) because I get attached quickly. To jobs to things to people to boys who won’t give me the time of day.
I don’t know how to let go. I stayed in a marriage that was so obviously wrong for so many reasons for far too long.
I’ve spent months chasing a boy who doesn’t have the decency to call me back or own up to how he says he feels about me.
I’ve bent over backwards for friends who wouldn’t do the same for me.
I hold on until the bridge is torched. I was talking to Emma the other day about a particular situation and I told her “I either need this to go somewhere or completely blow up in my face.” I’ve been told I go to extremes, and while that’s probably true, there are few things I hate more than not knowing where I stand with someone.
Yet I keep poking the bear. I answer every sporadic text and allow people to come in and out of my life as they please. I hate it. It makes me feel weak, one way I promised myself not to feel again as much as I can help it.
The wound can’t heal because I keep slicing it open. Over. and over. and over. and over. and over. It’s bled dry, scabbed over, scared and reopened more times than I care to admit. I’m a little ashamed of it, but someone recently reminded me there’s nothing wrong with a little shame.
I don’t know how to let this go. I don’t do well without closure. I don’t do well not knowing what someone expects or wants from me. It makes me crazy(ier).
Why keep coming back if you’re just going to disappear without a trace again? Why can’t you just let me go? I have about a million questions that will remain unanswered.
I’ve come to that conclusion about 100 times, but somehow I keep having to circle back to convincing myself that’s okay.
I can’t let go. I keep trying to walk away, I ran for miles, but I keep getting pulled back. I’m given an inch of hope, and I take miles and miles.
But I can’t do it anymore. It’s unfair to me. It’s unfair to him.
Yet I’ve never been one to be able to squash my feelings. They won’t go away. I want to bury them in an underwater treasure chest guarded by mermaids and a sea witch, but that’s not how I operate.
Someone told me it’s beautiful, the way I feel everything so deeply. The way I feel pain and joy so intensely.
I told them it sucks, and it is an ability I would gladly give them.
I don’t think I can handle it. I don’t think I can handle all of this emotion because I don’t know what to do with it.
I’m not equipped to handle it.
My body is tired, my brain is a mess, my heart is sore. I’m trying to write it all out, but nothing makes any sense.
I’m sitting, spending another night waiting for a call that will never come. Evidently it’s too much to have a conversation about things. God forbid I ask you to take me out of the back pocket you’ve been keeping me in because I deserve to be so much more than your dirty little secret.
I wish I was as much of a flight risk as my mom thinks I am. I wish I could convince him that he could lose me. That instead of taking care of other people and trying to fulfill the roles that other people want me to fill, I could look out for my own feelings and my own heart first.
It should be so simple, really. But it isn’t.
I had a heart to heart with a good friend yesterday, and he said something that’s been stewing around in my brain since then. “Things are very black and white, but the reasons behind them are convoluted.”
He’s so right. Things are quite simple, but emotion and human nature make them far more complicated than they should be.
I shouldn’t let things get to me so much, but I can’t help it.
I want to be good at running away from things. In some ways, I am. I’m an expert. Once I do decide to let go, I burn bridges. I cut people off. I shut people out. Just look at how many times I’ve packed up and moved in the last few years.
As much as I obsess over things, I also avoid them. In a different heart to heart with the same friend, I told him I’m the queen of avoidance and an expert at running away from my problems.
I spend a lot of time trying to pretend I’m chill and that things don’t get to me, but I spend double the amount of time in my head internally panicking about everything.
It’s a difficult balance.
His response was probably perfect, that running away from anything will kill me eventually and not to be stupid about it. It’s nice having someone in my life who understands how my brain works, doesn’t judge and completely gets it. I feel incredibly fortunate to have a friend like that. People you connect with on another level don’t come around often.
In fact, I’m lucky enough to be surrounded by a fantastic group of people. I don’t know how I got so lucky to have such incredible friends, but man do I have some mad love for you guys.
You’d think with all these lovely people around, I’d care less about the ones who treat me like shit.
Hearts don’t work that way. As Emma said, hearts are a little slow sometimes.
I’m gonna need my heart to pick up the pace because I’m ready to run away from this situation for good.
Don’t worry mama, only metaphorically. I’m staying put, and I’ll hang some things on my walls soon.