I think I’m a masochist. In fact, I know I am. Okay, I’m 87% sure. It’s not even that I enjoyed inflicting pain in myself all the time, sometimes I do enjoy it, but most of the time I find it necessary to punish myself.
Why, you ask? I have no idea.
I’ve always been like this. Ever since I can remember, I had the weird fascination with things going wrong, mainly because I wanted to see I would react to the situation. I know I know, you’re not supposed to wish harm on anyone, but if it’s on yourself doesn’t that make it a little better?
Trust me, I know the answer to that is, no.
Back to the topic at hand, my fascination with pain and sorrow and causing harm to myself, because I like being miserable.
It’s one of the main reasons why I used to cut myself. It started off as anger, then it morphed into a form of punishment. It could be from anything as well, not doing well in school, not doing well in track, not doing well with friends, anything really.
In college, it morphed more into me just being overwhelmed and upset. Mainly, with school and relationships (friendships). Especially junior and senior year, I just couldn’t handle the pressure of being perfect all the time. I know, who do I think I am? I know I’m not perfect and I know that no one expected me to be perfect, or at least they didn’t outwardly say it.
My friends saw me as this strong, outgoing, charismatic, person. And yes, I could be that at times, but also at times I was the complete opposite. I got sad sometimes too. In fact, I got sad a lot of times, for no reason at all. I still do, but I have to keep up with the appearance of nothing ever being wrong.
Even though, I know that’s not at all possible. For anyone.
I hated that I always had to be the strong one. I hated that I had to be there for everyone, but no one was there for me. And I hated that I felt that way. I shouldn’t have felt that way. I had great friends. I have great friends and a great support system. But, I hated that I wasn’t able to ask for help for fear of being a burden. Thus, I hated that you (ex best friend) made me that way. Because it is your fault, I kept to myself for the long and then when I did let someone in you ruined it. You made me feel as I was the worst person in the world for coming to you with my problems. You made me feel like my problems didn’t matter. You made me feel awful. And for that I hate you. I hate how you made me feel. I hate how you continue to make me feel. And I hate that our friendship is ruined and we can’t even talk anymore.
I hate that I can’t let people in.
I hate that I have so many thoughts,
and I have to keep them all to myself.
I hate that I have so many thoughts.
Not all of them are good. In fact, a lot of them are bad. I don’t act on all of them, if I did I probably wouldn’t be here right now. You can figure out what that means.
I just hate that I have so many and I try my best to make them subside but, the more I try the more they come back. I find myself being able to drive forty minutes without music, and not even realizing it because the thoughts are so loud. I find myself reliving moments in times.
I find myself reliving that night over again.
I continue asking myself if I did anything wrong. Did I lead him on? Could I have said no sooner? Could I have pushed him off harder? Why did I feel so weak? Why did I feel like my voice didn’t matter? Why couldn’t I stand up for myself?
I know better, I should have know better.
But then again…
Why didn’t he stop when I asked him to? Why did he keep telling me to relax? Why did he take advantage of me? Why didn’t he listen when I said,
“Nothing is going to happen. I’m not ready. I can’t. Stop.”
I know it’s not my fault. I know I shouldn’t be blaming myself, but I can’t help it. Parts of me thinks that I should have been stronger and more assertive. But, society and rules and common decency says that when a person say no or stop the other person should listen to that request.
And you sir, you did not listen to that request. You didn’t listen to my wishes. You didn’t care about me at all, because if you did then we wouldn’t have had sex, you wouldn’t have assaulted me. I wouldn’t have been raped. Oh and I would still be a virgin.
But, hindsight is 20/20.