Burn after reading in I'm New Here

I’m a mess. Truly, a disaster. And not in some beautiful, movie scene, poetic way that makes you fall in love with me. Instead, I push you away in the hopes of being your tragic heroine; maybe that way you will indulge my crazy. And the result? I frustrate you to a breaking point like a sad attention whore. I push you over the edge with my words, my actions, and most of all, my selfishness.

I don’t know the last time I felt this broken.

I’ve never allowed myself to feel good enough. The bar was set so high from the beginning. By parents, by teachers. It just became a constant, unceasing pressure. I didn’t know how to fail, because I never did. If I was the best, I would never disappoint anyone. I needed the reassurance and the praise. I needed to feel worthy of people’s attention, love, affection. If I just tried, worked hard, and succeeded, life would be fine. Except then it wasn’t. Except then Jack died. Except then the neighbor kid was inappropriate. Except then Dad died. And those bad things that happened caused me to push back harder – to fight more against this current that life had thrown me into. The more I lost control, the more it scared me. If I could just be better, bad things would stop happening to me; at least that’s what I kept telling myself. And hence, I’m never good enough because life doesn’t stop beating the hell out of me. It feels like standing at the edge of the cliff. I always have to wonder, “Who’s next? Who’s next to leave? Who’s next to die?” That’s how I’ve been conditioned to think at this point. That’s where my anxiety thrives. That’s where the control issues stem from. I crave control and constants because I can’t have it.

I meant what I said earlier – I’ve never truly forgiven myself for anything. I’ve made bad choices that haunt me constantly – both large and small. I didn’t prepare well enough in high school. I didn’t get into an Ivy League college. I didn’t graduate college with honors. I didn’t do internships that would have set me up to use my major. I chose the wrong major and did all this work for nothing. And all those “failures” overshadowed the successes.

I didn’t try hard enough to help my father. One of the last times we spoke I hit him. I told him I hated him, and I wished he would get hit by a car. I threw him out of my childhood home and locked the door behind him. I wanted him out of my life. I didn’t see him in the two years before he died. Seeing him on a slab was the worst moment of my life. The image haunts me, and I never stopped punishing myself for allowing it to happen. It was the only time I’ve ever experienced shock. I can’t seem to convince myself that none of this is my fault.

Therapy scares the shit out of me. I would have to explain my past to someone. I would be judged for the mess that I am. I would have to admit to myself that I have a problem – that I AM the problem. And that to me feels like giving up control. So, if I can just struggle through the days and never let it show, I can continue being “the strongest person you know.”

Except when I’m not. Congratulations – you’ve gotten close enough to know that poised, confident, outgoing person is a fraud. Inside I’m lonely. Scared. Sad. Pessimistic. A control freak. Anxious.

I love and hate our fights at the same time. You are the only person who has ever challenged what I do to myself. You call me on my bullshit. You know when I’m making excuses. You aren’t afraid to call it like it is, even if it hurts me. And I hide behind that pain and make you feel guilty to distract from the fact that deep down I’m so embarrassed and ashamed. I feel like I tried so hard and I still failed. So, I purposely hurt myself more. If I hurt myself no one else can. If I leave you first you can’t leave me.

“You’ll get tired of me eventually.” It’s a self-inflicted punishment and a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I continue being the mess that I am, saying those things that I say, eventually I will drive you away. Eventually you will tire of the negativity and of picking up my pieces when I inevitably shatter. And the cycle will start all over again. And I will continue to believe it’s meant to be that way and hide behind it because it’s easier.

The truth is hard to face. No one wants to put the worst parts of them on display. I hide behind excuses, depression, anxiety because if you strip those things away it would mean facing myself at my core – who I am. And I’m not sure I like that person.

So, I just want you to know, you’re right. You’re right to be frustrated and angry with this victim mentality.

You’re right about me.

And I want to promise you something: I promise I will try to get better. I sincerely hope you’re willing to pick me up when I inevitably fall and to help me along when I feel like I’m paralyzed. I hope you can encourage me when I want to quit, because I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this alone. I promise you I’ll try, though.

Love,

The girl with the weird name

Last updated March 04, 2019