Journal

I will pass on your judgement

i-will-pass-on-your-judgement

If ever you have wondered what the world thinks of you, you should know the feeling you get after the thought has spiraled. Thinking beyond ourselves and even imagining things that could happen in our free time. Why shall this take up so much time for us? I stopped to think today that if I gave in to the idea that someone else could make me feel worse about myself; then I have already given them the power to keep me down. Down in the couch. Where I ultimately didn’t want to be. There was a period of time where I felt like I deserved where I was at. I questioned when I was sitting there on the couch peeling away at layers of myself and feeling like someone somewhere had to much of me. They had too much and they knew too much. I shared the deepest darkest parts of myself with someone who had kept it to more than themselves. They gave no concern to what I had been through and took it as something that they needed to breathe. I NEEDED THAT TO BREATHE. It wasn’t them who was out of breathe while they were bleeding themselves to them and asking for them not to judge. I gave it what I had right?

What happens when you bleed out? Who will be there to hold the wound so that you don’t die? Who is there when you have no breath? Who is taking the breath from you? Where does your respirator come from? Who is going to be there to revive you?

What made so much more sense is that I did not see who I was worth at the time. I had given myself 5 years to recollect the pain that I uncontrollably felt and then trusted someone with it that didn’t deserve the responsibility that I was giving them. They were untrustworthy. Unworthy in general, but more so when it comes to trust. I didn’t hold myself with the expectation that I needed more than just looks to keep me satisfied. More than personality. More than heart. More than real. I needed an evanescence. There was a time in my life where he would have satisfied my desire for intellect and given me what even the deepest parts of my soul desired in the bedroom. But it didn’t give me anything but hurt. Pain. Grief. Until I in turn felt like I had done so much wrong. Here is my logic.

What you want from a woman is a child. What you want from a woman is so much more than her beauty. You want things that are instrumental in life. You don’t want her to sleep with too many people because that makes her a slut right? Shouldn’t have a background of defending herself? Shouldn’t have been on so many dates? Shouldn’t have, Couldn’t have, Wouldn’t have. I don’t give a shit. You weren’t me. It’s all I could think in my mind as I sat and poured myself out to someone that wasn’t there to truly get to know me and listen to me. I know love. I know good men. I know men that have treated me with the utmost respect. They sat and listened to me. They weren’t using my pain that I had already been through to break me down even further than I already was. Did he really think that I was going to sit there everyday and not recall what I had been through when I looked at myself in the mirror and did my makeup? I saw all the pain. TWICE. As a twin-less pain I deal with twice the amount of pain and I have no control over much of what happens from there. I know it is so hard to wake up. So hard to put on my makeup. So hard to eat. The longer the years that pass the bigger the hole gets.

It’s something that hadn’t hit me in a while. I think I tried to push it to the back of my mind. I tried to make myself believe that I always had someone in front of me that had my best interest and would love me for me if I shared with them how I felt. If I let them in to part of my life and allowed them to see the part of me that I really though and trusted would give me freedom; I was giving my love… and essentially all of it. I didn’t get in return what I was putting out. I was not happy with that.

During my breakdown on the couch, I forgave myself for being mad at myself for going through what I needed to in order to heal. In order to realize what was important and how much I really had to live for. I was suicidal. I was impacted. I was broken. I was very much a part of who I actually was. Sitting there and crying day in and out. I was so down on myself. I was trying to hide the best parts of myself.

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