THE ME I USED TO BE

Dear 2.10,
Do you remember the me I used to be? The brimming with possibilities, positive, secure, magnetic, light up a room, me? The motivated, witty, athletic, I-can-do-anything, me?
Yeh….so do I.

Where do we go when we don’t recognize ourselves anymore? Do we become invisible? Or just numb to everything except the heartache? Like water on rock such transformations clearly don’t happen over night. Something very important to us chips away resulting in this slow degradation of soul we miss until we wake up in the extreme and hate ourselves for it.

I detest my bitterness, anger, and fears. I’ve morphed into someone I don’t like and a skin I’m not comfortable in most of the time. My judgment and self-preservation are a joke; I’m a duped fool to the core and bear little in the way of self esteem; and the only life this universe is going to grant me is wasting away. The humiliation is excruciating. The time that is life is evaporating while I feel paralyzed.

How can the lied to end up feeling responsible and guilty, like they’re the crazy one? And how can the liar who cares about them allow such torture? Would they also let you get hit by a train? And what is the difference except that in this case they’re driving (which compounds the charge and the damage)? Partners should have your back but how can that be when they are all you have to fear?

I miss myself. I remember being glad to open my eyes in the morning. I remember having a smile and gushing energy into every person whose path I crossed and thriving on the energy I got back; I prized connections. General happiness is so stimulating. Like spark plugs going off in my brain. I got so much accomplished. I was productive and forward thinking. I was in the flow and the universe was my advisor and playground.

But I bucked the system. I got in this situation and stayed, and stayed, and came back, and came back, and stayed, and came back. I was taught and believe that relationships are the most meaningful and important things in a human life. Self-deterioration aside, and regardless of gains made when apart, loving someone engenders so much guilt at the thought of abandoning them while they’re clearly struggling with issues, that I guess I put myself on a shelf until further notice – or never. Whichever comes first.