You only really liked your naked body, when he was touching it. You only began to love yourself when he loved you and since he left you forgot how to. You look in the mirror and you barely notice yourself. You begin to play yourself. The 5 songs that you tried soo hard to avoid because of the feeling it gives you. Them songshave now become the songs on repeat. You look through old messages that you should of deleted and now you’re just reminiscing. Your scars reopen and you’re broken again. You’ve gotten yourself through the past few months by using things and people you think you need, but none of that can you distract you anymore. You need to accept, he’s not coming back. The sound of his voice you will eventually forget and his fingerprints will leave your body. All the memories will fade along with the pain. I know it hurts even worse because he’s the only one you’ve opened your palms too, so he could read your past through the creases in them. You let him in and he destroyed you. You’re more stronger than he thought and he thought he could break you down, but he couldn’t have his way with you. That’s strength. Today you may listen to them 5 songs over and over again, you’ll cry but remember tomorrow you will stand again. Even if you don’t, it’s okay because you’re allowed to be upset. You’re allowed to feel hurt. The human mind is not wired to deal with a heart break. It just knows how to survive. And look here you are, surviving ❤
I feel like no matter what I do or what I accomplish,
I am never going to find whatever it is I’m missing.
Or maybe I will find it, the answer is just when?
I think it maybe a type of freedom I’m looking for,
but I still can’t find it despite the fact I’m no longer underneath my parents control.
I can’t find it when I’m drunk.
I dunno what type of out I need but I feel like nothing will be able to give it to me.
I feel like I’m not living life how I should be,
there’s so much others would of accomplished if they were still here living.
My life isn’t some hell on earth
and I don’t mean to portray it like so.
I just don’t understand why things are so difficult for me,
Or maybe I’m making it difficult myself.
Sometimes I feel as though I don’t belong,
Not in a suicidal way.
I just sometimes don’t feel like I’m using it to its full potential, like I’m wasting it.
I know I am in fact but I also know I’ve done things to try prevent it but yet sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in it.
I’m so confused, anxious and overwhelmed about nothing but everything.
I can’t think of a reason but I could list many.
I cant understand myself and why I feel this way.
I feel numb in a certain type of sadness but I also feel numb when I’m not sad at all.
It’s true that if you become one thing for so long, you don’t know how to be anything else.
I know how to be happy within a mood but I don’t know how to be happy.
I know how to laugh and actually mean it but I don’t know how to spend the rest of my life this way.
And I know it’s wrong for me to find an reason for everything but that’s what I do.
and when I can’t figure out a reason, I assume they’re my fault.
I blame myself for things that are completely out of my control.
I’m sensitive I take things so harsh and personally.
I hate this about myself but what can I do, I can’t stop it.
I’m really tired or being tired and I know that cliche but it’s true, I’m always exhausted.
Maybe it’s because my rooms always dark and I always stay in there.
I don’t know sometimes I feel like I’m putting all this on myself,
but if that’s the case wouldn’t I be able to stop it?
Modern heartbreak is seeing your message was read at 3:15pm but it’s 9:09pm and you’ve still had no reply. You start drafting messages of what you want to say but begin to think is there any point. Checking their twitter and Snapchat to see if they’ve posted anything and in most cases they have. Then you’re left thinking that you should delete the persons number but if you do that you’ll never see their display picture change on whatsapp. They’ll never see the quotes you put up or the new profile picture you took, where you look stunning. Modern break up is the unfollowing and the blocking. Modern breakup is checking twitter favourites to see who’s pictures they liked and sometimes it even directs you to the new person in their life. Modern break up is going on Snapchat and seeing him out on a meal and all you can see is a female hand, you watch it over and over again hoping your eyes are deceiving you but they aren’t. Across from him is actually a female, that’s not you. That Snapchat battle of who can make each other jealous, which you know wont end well. That one story you posted, that’s nearly expired and they still haven’t watched it but has been posting all day. Modern break up is going through your camera roll and seeing old screenshots of when things were so good and you have to question yourself, asking yourself ‘what happened’. It’s the checking to see if the persons been online every couple hours. Modern heartbreak is unfollowing them but seeing them still pop up on your twitter feed and you know you’ll see something you don’t want to see if you go on their page but you go on it anyway. Modern heartbreak is messy and no matter how much you try to escape the person, somewhere somehow there’s always a reminder.
I grew up believing that I was born with something broken inside of me, something that my mother tried soo hard to fix that she forgot to fix herself.
I wonder if the doctors realised my shoulders was too weak to bare the weight of absence.
I used to tell myself that’s why he’s not around.
That one day he realised I wouldn’t be able to handle losing love so he left before becoming that loss.
I wonder if he would have still left if he knew that over twenty years down the line, the weight of his absence would still be so heavy. That the only way to lighten the hurt would be to distance myself from the person I was becoming without him.
I think my mum thought that if she told me she loves me enough times, she could try to replace the love I was missing, she tried. I mean she really did, but it just didn’t work. I know she thought she had enough love for the both of us but it never filled the absence. When a parent is absent by choice, there’s always going to be something missing. Questions unanswered.
I don’t even know what my father looks like, but my mum has told me several times I look just like him. That part of his face found a home on mine and sometimes she won’t look at me, and I wonder if it’s because every time she looks at me, I just remind her of the person that broke her heart?
And for a long while I’d search his name in the search bar on Google, because all I wanted to do was show him the scars on my knees from learning how to ride a bike all by myself.
One day I am going to let him know, the only thing he gave to me was the inability to trust.
One day I going to tell him, that all the lessons that he was meant to teach me about boys I had to learn myself.
I wonder if he would even look into my eyes because he’d only be staring into the eyes of his own and know that he is the reason why they are soo empty.
Even though it’s been years, I always seem make excuses for him, like maybe he never called because it slipped his mind. Plus who else would I have gotten my poor memory from because I knew it wasn’t from my mum, my mother remembered everything.
They say you can’t miss someone you never met and I’m living proof that’s a lie because Its been over twenty years and I still think I can feel my fathers hand holding mine.
I still have the cards I made you from nursery up until I was 8. I think I was 8 when I finally realised you probably would never show up to receive your Father’s Day card, Christmas card or anything I made for you.
I realised that some people are lucky to live with both parents and some children have two houses as their parents split but both parents was a big part of their child’s life.
Then there was me, the unlucky one. One Parent and One House.
I just wish he would of shown up to at least ONE of my birthdays. I grew up saying my fathers name as I blew out the candles that were never lit by him.
I grew up thinking that he wasn’t there to see my first breath because It would be hard for him to stick to the plan. The plan to save me from a loss that’s too great for me to hold. I told myself he couldn’t bear to watch his daughter grow up, knowing that some day his time would come he’d have to leave and it would ruin me.
I told myself he was a good man.
I told myself he didn’t want to be a part of my life if he couldn’t witness all of it.
I told myself that some men just don’t know how to be fathers,
I told myself that until I found out he had another daughter.
You know how the small the world is, my mum ran into someone in the grocery store who then told my mum my father just had his third child.
I didn’t know how to take it.
I began to envy them because they’ll never have to learn how to ride a bike by themselves, blow out candles and wish for him to return. They won’t have the long term issues like – Do you know how hard it is to let someone love you when the person who’s meant to wouldn’t?
It’s soo hard to love someone when the person you loved, didn’t want it.
I can’t wait for the day I meet this man.
One day I’ll introduce myself and tell him I have met him in every person I have loved and watched leave.
One day I’ll face him,
but for now I’ll just go on his Facebook that I finally found and look through pictures,
With him, his 3 kids and wife
and wonder how come he loved them but never loved me.
He can’t start over with someone else because no one will ever love him like I do. No one will ever care how much as I did to ask questions about his past, like when his dad left and how he felt. No one will ever be able to understand why he can’t stop his possessive ways and I don’t want them to. I don’t want her to ever experience his hand playing in her hair as she lay on his chest. I don’t want her to randomly get a ‘be ready in a hour’ text. I don’t want her to feel comfort in the arms that was able to make me feel so safe, that’s my safe place. I don’t want him to be loyal to her, he was meant to be loyal to me. I don’t want her to hear him reciting the lyrics to his favourite songs and I sure don’t want them driving around to the same songs I introduced to him to. She won’t ever know where the scar under his eye came from. I don’t want them to think about their future and argue about things like what they want their future children’s name to be. I don’t want her to be able to wake up to long messages most mornings, telling her how much he appreciates her. I don’t want her to be able to experience him breathing down her neck as he lay asleep. I don’t want her to watch him peacefully sleep and stare at his beautiful face, admiring how lucky she is. How much she loves him. I love him. I don’t want her to ever experience the love and affection I got from him. I don’t want her to be able to witness his annoying side, no matter how much I would complain at the time. I know I don’t always show him how much I care about him but he can’t move on. I can’t allow anyone to know him the way I do. I don’t want anyone to feel lucky to have him because that’s my boy. And that’s my person.
I hate you for making it hard for me to fall in love with somebody else, you left me hanging, ruined my whole trust and now every person that comes along, just reminds me of how you treated me and makes me not want to let anyone in. I’m reluctant to let down these walls, I meet people and as soon as I start to feel as though Im getting attached, I run off. No matter how good the person maybe.
I hate you for every time my friends had to pick me up and take me somewhere just to get my mind off things. All the times I woke up at dumb hours of the night calling them because I needed to vent. I hate you for my friends for being able to actually tell me ‘I told you so’.
I hate you for the brusies . You never hit me but you did just as bad. You left a scar and I feel as though its never going to heal.
I hate you for the time I hugged my mum and she told me she hates seeing me like this. I think she realised her little girl was no longer the same. I hate you for all the shoulders you made cry on and the fact none of them was ever yours
I hate you for not giving me the love and respect i deserved and made the words ‘I love you’ difficult to leave my mouth
I hate the fact that everywhere I walk I can never get rid of your scent.
I hate you for everything you put me through.
And I just want to let you know, that the bridge is burnt so no matter if you come to realise that you’ll never find anyone that loved you like i did, it will be too late. The bridge is burnt now and I promise we will never cross paths again.
You always tell me I’m a wanderer, you’ve told me I can’t keep resting my feet at strangers houses.
I tell you I know them, but you know better. You know me well. I know something about nothing when someone says ‘I love reading’ the first thing I do is shift them into a person I used to have, the person I could exchange books with.
I automatically think I’ve figured them out, it’s so wrong of me. The second they mention partying or they don’t enjoy the same music as me, I’ll distance myself. I’ll leave.
I’ll run away because the beds not warm enough or their kisses don’t feel the same, it’s scares me.
Because that’s different, that’s not the person I used to have. I came here to feel at home, not rebuild.
I came over here to start again, not to start over.
That’s probably why I never stay because I never know them like I wanted to think I did. I think I did because my mind can so easily make them into a person I lost in the past. I’m so good with words that I can talk myself into thinking that I have found the person I lost, in this new person I found when they really have no resemblance. I can’t keep looking for you in people.
I’m able to fall in love of the idea of someone, it’s falling in love with the actual person that takes months and years. Maybe someone who is doing the same thing to me, maybe they see me as someone that they love that isn’t around anymore and they are using me just to fill her void and I don’t think I mind that. Maybe I’m just someone’s filler and I only break someone vicariously and my hands never get blood on them.
Maybe it’s a good thing.
But it’s true.
I can’t keep pretending to be homeless when my house is only 5 minutes away.
I can’t just find another because a crack is on the walls of my room.
I can’t keep doing this to people