Confessions

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how often we unintentionally lie to ourselves and to others.  I’m totally guilty of it too, but I want to take a minute to be honest with you, with me, with everything.

I’m not happy in this town.  That’s not a secret.  I’m terrified that if I walk into Walmart I’m going to run into one of the dozens of people I used to be friends with.  I’m afraid of confrontation.  I’m afraid that they’ll hurt me again.  I’m afraid they’ll walk past me like I never mattered to them at all.

I’m afraid I don’t matter very much to anyone, except my family.  I know that mattering to my family should count more than anything else, but when I look back on my life, I wonder if they’ll be the only ones who remember me.

I can’t tell the difference between genuine affection and fake affection anymore.  The minute someone starts to talk to me, I assume they have some ulterior motive.  I don’t trust anyone, even my friends to have my best interests at heart.  I’ve been hurt so many times by people who said they cared about me and loved me, that it doesn’t surprise me when it happens.  Now, I just wait for it and think “saw that coming” when it ends.

I’m falling fast for someone who probably won’t be there to catch me.  Falling for another person who doesn’t have the same feelings for me.  Falling because I imagined there feelings that weren’t really there.  Falling for someone who is probably the best thing that ever happened to me.  And I hate myself for going there with him, because I was able to keep my feelings at bay for such a long time.  And I will never tell him how I feel.  I tried that once, or twice, or a few times and I always get hurt.  I don’t want to look foolish by doing it again, so I won’t.

I don’t look forward to things anymore.  The most exciting thing I’m setting my sights on is Avengers: Infinity Wars releasing in a few weeks and after that…I don’t know what to be excited about anymore.

I have six friends.  I only talk to one of them every day and not for very long.  Most days, it feels like I have no friends at all.  No one calls, no one texts, no one wants to hang out.  Most days, I am alone.  

I realized recently that I have been changing my behavior so someone wouldn’t be mean to me or have reason to talk about me behind my back.  That sucks.  I trap myself in toxic friendships all the time.  It’s one of my few talents.

I miss singing.  I'm actually good at it.  I miss having the confidence to sing in front of other people.  I miss not having anxiety claw its way up my throat when people look at me.  I miss being able to sing at the top of my lungs, full of joy and passion and not be embarrassed that someone might notice me.

I keep imagining this future with a husband and kids and a house and endless days of sunshine and laughter, and I don’t know how to get there.  It makes my chest physically ache with loneliness.  Sometimes at night, most nights actually, I have to take deep breaths and pull my blankets tight so the loneliness doesn’t start crushing my chest.  Sometimes, the loneliness crushes me anyway.  Sometimes I cry into my pillow until my body is so worn down from shaking and silently crying that sleep finally sucks me in and I wake up with sore joints and red eyes and a raw throat.  Sometimes things are very, very bad at night.

I feel, lately, like connecting with people is too much effort.  I don’t even have real conversations with my best friend anymore because I feel so exhausted from trying to figure out what to say to him.  It's not his fault.  He's the best person I know, and still I feel like I’m a burden if I’m not all rainbows and sunshine and smiles.  I don’t want to bring him down, so I don’t talk to him much through the day.  I feel so tired, all the time, from the effort of simply existing that I just don’t have much energy for anything else.  I kind of hate myself for being that way.  I want to tell someone.  Anyone.  But I don’t want to bring them down or bother them.  I guess that’s why I tell you, faceless Internet readers and loyal friends; it makes me feel better for a little while.

I remember what it was like before my aunt died, and it was a different life.  I remember being happy and thinking all the time that I was so blessed to be who I am and have the friends I had and the family I have.  And I still feel blessed, but now it’s more like I feel blessed that the things I love haven’t been taken away.  It’s a more sad feeling of “blessed” than it used to be.  I remember being fearless and bright and open before she died. And I remember being an absolute zombie after.  And now, I feel like I’m stuck in no man’s land between those two places and I’m not quite sure what to do or where to go or who to be.  It scares me sometimes how comfortable I am in my brokenheartedness.  It scares me that I don’t really want to get out of this dark place enough to fight for the light.  But I do want the light.  I want a future and happiness and a life and a family…it’s complicated I guess.  I wish it was simpler.  Maybe then I would know what to do.

I hate that all of these honest things are so morose.  There are good things too; good, honest, real things about me, but they don’t scare me like these do.  I’m not ashamed of the good things or the goofy things.  I’m not afraid to share my good truths.  My love for glitter, my hopeless romanticism, my belief that Bigfoot might be real; none of that is buried deep inside me where no one can see.  I wear those truths proudly on my sleeves.  But the hard ones, the dark ones, the scary ones, those are the ones I had to get out my system.  Those are the ones that burn me up from the inside out.  Those are the ones I wish someone would look past the smiles and the obnoxious laugh to see.  Those are the parts of me I’m afraid to share with people.  Those are my scars.  Those are my confessions.