I have been, and I think I always will be an insecure person. I always feel judged, which is a part of my social anxiety, I have this over powering feeling that I’ll never be good enough, or as pretty as other females my age.
These worries, these insecurities make me so cut off from relationships because I’m positive he could and will find someone better then me. My anxiety makes me over think everything and my depression makes me moody and even more cut off.
I haven’t wrote in a while cause I hate where I am emotionally.
I feel like all I do is repeat myself, my worries seem so minimal when I think of what the people on the other side of the world must be going through. Yet every little thing sets me off, but not into anger but sadness. How can I even begin to live a life, heal, when I can’t follow a schedule because my hours at work change? How can I even think about putting myself first when I have things and people that come before me because they are more emotionally distressed then I am? How do I break down my walls in order to be happy when I built my walls so high and thick even the deepest love can’t seem to penetrate them.
My life changed a lot when I was 14-16, and I feel like I ended up frozen in that time, in those feelings. It’s been over 10 years of being afraid to love, afraid of that broken hearted feeling. My grandma dying, my dad getting sick and my ex coming out all happened so closely together that I didn’t have the time to grieve each thing individually and I think that’s a huge reason why I’m so gaurded. When my dad was diagnosed with ALS the guy who said he “loved me” was no where to be found. When my grandma died he wasn’t around, I found comfort in my guy friends instead of someone I gave the most personal thing you could ever give someone. How could he claim he loved me, give me a promise ring, allow me to become the most vulneralable I’ve ever been just to come out and tell me he’s always known. I understand that coming out is hard, and 11 years ago it was even harder but he was the one who persuaded the entire relationship; and then cheated on me with men. Risked my health by engaging in anal sex and then having unprotected sex with me. It’s not even him being gay that bothers me, it was that he was never honest with me. He was never there when I needed him the most and yes I understand love when your a teenager and love when your an adult is different, but in my city most of the guys never really grew up. My pain was disregarded and made fun of by teachers and other students at school, the pain I was going through at home, not having my grandma anymore, watching my dad drop things and get more and more frustrated killed me but because all people saw was him being gay those things didn’t matter.
No one was there for me when my world was falling apart, I was trapped in my own hell. I was scared to tell anyone anything because I told people one thing and the next thing I knew it was all over the school.
A year and a half later in the middle of the night I was touched, his hard penis pressing up against my back, and no one believed me. I asked for it, I lead him on. I was blacked out drunk for the first time in my entire life, and if I had been leading him on I wouldn’t have grabbed my friends hand to wake her up for help. I wouldn’t of told him no and pushed his hand away. I wouldn’t be forever tormented by the smell of beer.
In what world would I want to trust someone or be vulnerable when everytime I was, I was hurt.
How am I suppose to move on from that? Everyone who promised to be there for me, told me they loved me has walked away, lied or betrayed me in some sort of way.
Because you are not good enough, Donna.
All these things and everything since then has turned me into someone I hate I can’t look in a mirror at myself without noticing everything wrong with me. My teeth are over lapped and not white enough, the bridge of my nose has a bump that needs to be removed, my eyes have dark bag underneath them, my breasts aren’t as perky as I wish they were. I could go on forever.
I’m not blaming them completely though even though it seems like I am. If I didn’t make stupid decisions like thinking I was mature enough at barely fourteen to have sex and to continue to drink after knowing I was already intoxicated I would have never been in the position to be hurt.
I wish, every single day, that I will be able to use the pain of the past to strengthen me and not pull me deeper into this angry place; this depression. That I will find a man, or rather have a man come into my life that shows me that not all men are like the ones I’ve encountered and that I’ll open my heart to the possibility of loving someone other then my family (and my dogs).
But who knows how long that’ll take.