I am absolutely terrified of not being enough. I’m afraid of being walked out on. I’ve built walls around me that reach to the sky and I’ve buried myself deep beneath the dirt for protection. Everything I’ve found comfort in, everyone I’ve cared about; has left me. Whether it be because I’m not what they wanted, or maybe needed, or if it’s because I’ve scared them away; they’ve always, always inevitably became a memory. I am not heartless, but maybe the opposite. I care so deeply about those around me that I fear it scares them.
To some extent I know it’s my fault. I am so used to being alone. I am so used to being let down. So, god forbid someone cares about me. Or at least makes me think they do... I like to think they do. But, time and time again, I have opened up my heart to people and showed them the darkest parts of me… and they’ve left me. Alone again. So I should be used to it, right? I should know how to deal with abandonment. It’s in my fucking core, from birth. But, to this day I am completely unsure if I will ever learn.
Fuck, does it make me hurt though. So deeply inside of me that I feel physically sick most nights. To think that, yet again, I’ve become a temporary filler to a void I can not live up to. I’ve tried to convince myself it’s my own doing. Maybe I’m just programmed this way. Like maybe I’m attracting these situations that are unfinished, only to help them along the way. I’ve tried to convince myself that it’s not me too. What if everyone, everything, is just already occupied? What if I don’t fit into someone’s life like they fit in mine...Where do I fit in?
And then… Maybe I need to be alone. Maybe I’m a fixer, a mender. Maybe that’s my purpose. Take on everyone’s pain so that they can move on once they’re done with me. Consume me and then spit me out, like the shots of tequila I use to numb the pain.
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It’s not that I want to be alone. That’s the last thing I want. It’s that I’m afraid of it. And yes, I am completely aware of how tragically unhealthy that is. How absurd it might seem too. And that’s because it is! It is undeniably and absolutely insane to be consumed by something you can’t fabricate. It’s not like the ocean, or heights, or spiders... and yet, it has somehow, unfortunately, become the bane of my existence; my biggest fear. It’s a hole in my being that I’m not sure will ever be sewn shut or healed.
When everyone around you is yelling at you that you’re enough, that you’re beautiful and strong, and that you will never end up alone... it sets a dark expectation so deep in your soul that you can’t shake it. Because, here I am, alone in my thoughts when everyone has told me that that’s not possible for “someone like me.” Someone like me...
Who am I? And who the fuck are they to tell me I am strong? To tell me when to be strong? Everyone thinks they know me. I am breaking; or maybe already broken. Let me and all my pieces be. Let me curl up in a ball on the ground and fill these empty liquor bottles with tears. Let me fall apart, but please, don’t tell me who I’m supposed to be.
There are so many things in my life, buried deep down, that I’ve tried to conquer. There’s a reason why it’s a trek to find them. There’s a reason why I have a hundred layers you have to pull apart. I have grown this shell around me for 23 years. Be careful when you try to strip them away…
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So, am I a fighter? A runner? Or do I freeze?
Usually, I run…fast. I have ran away from situations in my life that remind me of the past trauma that I’ve been through from the earliest moments I can remember. It stems from a lack of love in my childhood; from an absence of the most wholesome emotion we should know from birth. It comes from a lack of belief; from someone I looked at as a my savior. I’ve ran because people made me think they were going to run first. If I’m not the first out, if it’s not my decision, it hurts more. Why stay when I know what’s coming?
And there, lies my issue. There, in that moment, is my worst trait. I will absolutely fight to make things in my life better, to make things work. But, if for some reason in that fight for life or love, whatever the fuck it is, I feel like I might not make it out unscathed; I’m gone. I’m a runner.
I’m aware that it’s not fair to the people closest to me. I’m sure I’ve lost people in my life because I am so anxious to keep my heart safe. I swear it has never been more personal. I just want to keep myself safe. Fuck, is that so wrong? It’s like I’ve wrapped my soul in bubble wrap, and if there’s pressure around it, like it’s about to pop, I have to run. Don’t burst that protective layer of cushion around the one thing that keeps me sane. Please, please don’t hurt me.
I think part of me thinks that I’m just cutting them loose from my shit show. That’s definitely what it is, actually. I’m stuck in this mindset where I don’t think people can handle me at my worst, because honestly sometimes I can’t either. They fall in love with the highs so I try to keep them from the lows. Sometimes though, I can’t hide the lows. Whether it’s the silence in the room, or the tears running down my face, I don’t want them to see it. Maybe I don’t want them to see the real me? But, maybe it’s not the real me. Maybe I’m not broken.
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It’s gotten to a point in my life that I’ve began searching for some sort of life time fulfillment. I’m not sure in which aspect of my life. I know at some point in my life I’ll need to make a decision. Whether I stay where I am, or if I go out searching for what I could be. It’s terrifying though because these walls I’ve built around me are so comforting. One day indefinitely, these walls will suffocate me. And if they don’t; if I allow myself to stay in this day to day routine of bullshit mental health I will die of starvation. Maybe not today or tomorrow or next month, but one day the hands of life itself will wrap so tightly around my throat that I can’t breathe anymore. The “Megan” that I know today is both consciously aware of how bad things could go and yet somehow, at home.
I’ve found comfort in the wrecking ball that is me.
I throw myself into things recklessly. I like the feeling that comes with the unknown; I’m drawn to it. But when I can’t find that rush, that jolt, I start to think that my life is becoming stagnant. Queue the sprint.
