Cycles of Self Loathing

Over the last few days, things have taken a turn. I’ve been humbled and abused by people who have counted on me always being there. It needed to stop. People taking advantage of me. I never expect to be treated like a princess, but to be given respect. Mutual respect. Respect for time, for communication, for boundaries. People who “care” about me, know I’m always going to bounce back. It needed to stop and I needed to cut ties. I still need to cut a few. Life is too short to love people who treat you as a number, like you’ll always hang on. You have other people to put your energy into. Things that are worth it, that will pay off. Things like my career and my son. Friends. Even as I write this, I can hear the voices of these people.

“Stop being a victim.”

“You’re sabotaging yourself.”

“I love you.”

I hung out with one of my dearest friends, Jess. To be honest, I never wanted to be friends with her, but she kept pushing it and I’m so glad we are friends now, all these years later. I feel like we really get each other, in the ways that we can never get our brains to turn off.

She said something to me on Friday night. We were talking about how we had to stop relying on other people. She got it. She really truly got it. Although she is sometimes unreliable, I get that she’s busy and she’s screwed up, just like me. Our minds are full. It’s amazing when people just get you. You realise you’re not alone in this, like you’re mad to ever think it.

It’s true. I’m just a number. I’m nothing special. I need to rely on myself. I know myself.

But it’s hard. Lying awake in an empty warm bed, next to a dog who occasionally sleep barks. I miss the company of a full bed and the excitement of waiting for someone to come home. The hugs on demand, the petty arguments. I miss it. It’s crazy hard. This is what I was afraid of. Just the imminent loneliness, which I also craved. Yet, it’s the voice. I’m a victim. I should stop feeling sorry for myself. I’m entitled to ever think that I should expect to trust someone’s word or that anyone would ever care enough to fulfil their promises to me. Like anyone would ever have time for me. My mind goes round in this circle of self loathing where, even as I write this, even as I always get emails from people telling me to keep writing, I still get the voices of influence. They scream and shout at me and they sound familiar, affectionate. They say I’m at fault. This makes me ugly, complex, unworthy of affection or attention or even respect. Even a hi. Even a quick call to ask how I am during the day. During the week? At all? Ever? They’d never go out of their way to do the little things. I wish I was sent flowers. I never was surprised, but was always surprised at how hurt I felt. It wasn’t always my fault, but nobody really knows me. Again. It’s my fault right? Ugh. I am so entitled.

I know on paper, I’m mostly not a victim. Maybe I was just bored, but boredom sucks too. I learnt 2 programming languages in 3 months (not amazingly, but I could build something), I got 3 jobs where they love me and appreciate not just the work I do, but me as a person. I still have my house. My conscience tells me not to brag. It tells me to stop being lame, to stop being complex and emotional. I know I’ve done okay.

Jess and I have wildly different tastes. But we respect each other. I’m always deathly blunt with her. She has always been the refresher for me. Just the intelligent conversation about media and philosophy that we have. I never have to preface the big words. She never makes me feel crap when I ask her to explain her words for me.

I lost my train of thought. But, this hurts. One person taught me to suffer through conflict and that same person decided I wasn’t worth his time when it came time to deal with mine. But, despite the discrepancies, he still influenced me because I loved him and I wanted him to be proud of me from afar. Why did I ever waste my time?

So, I guess, I’m done. I want to be. I hate the internalised drama. I hate the chest hurts and the waiting on words. Just because people know they can play you and they know you’ll always stick it through because they see their own worth at the detriment of your own. Esteem vampires, perhaps? I’m not worthy of the effort or the time to anyone else. I’m just a number.

But to myself? I’m the only thing I have and I need to make the most of it.