Somewhere along the way, I lost who I am. I know when it happened. Someone stole it from me. But really, as much as I want to blame him, it was my fault too, because I let it happen.
And since then, I’ve been floating, wandering, trying to find that girl again. I used to be the kind of girl that a man would actually want to date.
I feel like when that piece of me was stolen away, everything that was good about the person I am got twisted. The things that were so right and pure and wonderful were warped and laced with terror.
I’ve always been the type of girl who takes care of her man. I enjoy washing his dishes and doing romantic things to make him smile. When he has a bad day, I like rubbing his shoulders. And of course, I love blow jobs, because there’s nothing better to me than making him feel good.
And that got perverted. I’m still like that, but it’s magnified, and like looking at a good quality in a funhouse mirror. Now, when I care about a man, I don’t give him any breathing room. People had told me how amazing I am as a girlfriend, how beautifully and wonderfully I take care of people. With this one person, I gave it my all above all others. I look back at that and…really, I was the perfect girlfriend. I gave him space, but I took care of things too. I supported him through really tough decisions, and led my own life through some of my own tough decisions. I loved him, and I felt loved. That entire time, I don’t remember a single day of crying or anger or drama. We didn’t always agree, but I never once felt that he was going to get angry and break up with me. My life was so beautiful and innocently happy.
It wasn’t enough. Honestly, I can’t imagine being a better half of a relationship, as cocky as that sounds. He chose to not only lie to me in the most heartbreaking ways possible, but to put my life at risk. The space he needed was for another life, one that was a complete secret from me. It wasn’t just the fact that we broke up. It was the fact that who I was, what I did, that amazing life together that I offered him…was a joke to him. He actually told me that to my face: “This was all just a joke to me.”
I’m afraid of being the joke again. I don’t know how to be that wonderful person I was. It’s in me. It is. But now, when I try to show someone I care, I don’t give them any breathing room. I want to be enough, and I wasn’t before. When I was as close to perfect as possible, I was his joke.
And I see myself doing it. I go…crazy. I’m in bed unable to sleep because I worry that someone I like is going to laugh at me again. Every time I get close to someone, making the decision to trust them is just something that I can’t handle. I slowly spiral downward, crushed by the weight of having to just blindly trust something. So, I say that I trust, but I really don’t. I invade every space I can to try to stay calm and reassure myself that they aren’t going to hurt me. Because I just don’t believe it.
I don’t want to be this girl. I just don’t know how to change. I gave someone the best of me once, and even though it happened years and years ago, some nights, I still can’t sleep because of it.
I’m lost. I’m lost and no one can find me. I have to find myself. I just don’t know if I can.
About Rori
Rori is the founder of Between My Sheets. She works full time as a writer, reviewer, and online educator and can be reached at rori-at-betweenmysheets.com
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