Girl, Interrupted

I am tired. I’m tired of working on myself and becoming a better person for people to only ever see the me that used to be. It’s as though they’ve found the skin I shed and are still so fascinated by it that they’re unable to see this shinny, beautiful new layer that lay beneath. It’s tiring. Feeling as though I am always on the defense. Feeling as though I constantly have to defend myself.   No matter how hard I try to show people who I truly am beneath all the hurt, the pain, the heartache, and all the mess that I’ve been through they refuse to see me. I’m standing right here in front of them not allowing my past to define me, to change me, to continue to harden me, but they refuse to see me. I’m tired of standing here.

I don't need  to hold on to the hope that he’ll change. The hope that one day he’ll wake up and realize all the hurt he’s caused me even in his absence, by his absence. I don’t need to hold on to the hope that he’ll one day wake up and love me, really truly unconditionally love me. I don’t need to sit here waiting at the bottom of this step in the cold pouring rain, drops blending in with my tears, hoping that he’ll open the door and let me in; that’ll he’ll embrace me with a warmth that swallows me whole and softens the ice walls around my heart until the melt away into beautiful flowing rivers giving life to all the dry earth around it. He was the first man I learned to love unconditional. I loved him the way Christians loved God. I couldn’t see him, I rarely heard him, but I knew, I just knew he was there and I loved him with an unyielding love. Loved him without question simply because he was… That’s it. Love him because he was, and I was of him.

It's crazy how  we love unconditionally those who do not love us. It’s a painful kind of love. The ones who breaks you down until you’re a pile of dust. The ones who make you doubtful of yourself and fearful of others. All the while walking around unscathed and without a single worry.