For the longest time I thought I was like my father. I’d inherited his temperament, his easy attitude towards life. At some point I had to learn how to be cruel, how to be mean, how to put on armour. I’d like to think maybe she forced that with good intentions, maybe she believed I’d have a greater chance at surviving if she hurt me first. What is dead my never die, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, that kind of bullshit.
Did your mother ever tell you that you were worthless? That she regretted having you and you had ruined her life. Maybe plenty of mothers feel that way. Maybe most of them don’t say it. It took me a long time to stop ruining her life. It took me even longer to unlearn everything she had taught me.
I know that statistically speaking every relationship except your current one is technically a failed relationship. But some of mine failed so spectacularly that I’m still waiting for you to wake up one day and feel the same. He woke up one day and decided he wasn’t happy. That I wasn’t the one. That I never was.
I should have understood that it was nobody’s fault but I couldn’t fathom the truth. I’d done it before. I had broken a heart before it happened to me and I thought nothing could feel worse than the guilt, but then it did. I felt every bone in my body ache and I wanted to rip my heart out so it would stop beating for him.
I’ll never learn how to just be fucking happy, you all made sure of that, didn’t you.