Re: “I love you. Do I?”
This feels like a journal entry ripped from my own life. People have shown over and over that being vulnerable only means they’ll try to hurt me. I tried to fox it, changed everything about myself, became open with people and it still just happened again. People just aren’t safe. I miss my family in a weird way because I guess the idea of family is better than actually having to deal with one that’s done nothing but destroy and repress you your entire life. Sometimes I wish they were worse so I could expel them from my life conpletely and be “free.” The only permanent ties I’ve ever had were forced upon me by “blood,” and every other tie is so flimsy it might as well have not existed in the first place. I don’t see the point in trying to get close to people when all they do is leave. There is one person I truly love and could trust to defend me even when I’m not around, but I rejected him out of fear of what might happen to him and me, of being rejected or humiliating him by coming out as trans, of him resenting me for being a failure/embarrassment, of him getting in trouble (he was my boss at the time), of how his friends and family might judge either of us, of how hard it might be for him to fit someone like me into his life, of holding him back, of him maybe not knowing what he wants, of losing him at some point even if I did say yes, just so many things, and rejecting him is still the biggest regret of my life. Even though I know he deserves better than me I’m still selfish and want him in my life.
I have “friends,” but nobody I can actually share my inner thoughts or problems with. I’ve reverted to making friends online because that’s the only way I’ve ever succesfully done it, and I share my deepest problems with those people that are far away and can’t tell anything to people I might know in real life. I’m jealous of people with childhood friends and best friends. I moved a lot and nobody ever actually stays in touch very long after you leave. I always value people more than they value me, and it’s obvious I don’t deserve to have someone care about me like that. I can’t trust my partner after he got physical with me and as much as I want to and try to get over it, I don’t think I’ll ever let my walls down again. Nobody is safe. Everyone is a threat. There’s nobody to trust.
The benefit of moving a lot is that you get to try again wherever you go, and the downfall is when you realize that no matter what you do different, the same pattern happens. People’s faces just blur together eventually. I can barely remember people I hung out with in high school, much less middle or elementary school. I don’t even remember more than 1 or 2 names. No point in remembering when they’re long gone and you’ll never see them again.
The difference between us is that I do want to kill myself. Even when I was doing everything right, everything went wrong. I did my absolute best and it wasn’t good enough, and with my health deteriorating I know that I can never be that good again, so I just want to die.
There’s nothing that I want that’s possible to achieve or obtain anymore. There’s still that innate desire to be close to people, but I can’t force or allow myself to be vulnerable again. It’s never been a matter of not knowing what I want, but that what I want is unachievable even with my best efforts. Know when to fold them I guess.
Those fake scenarios and good dreams with my favorite person kept me going for a while, but at some point I got worried that I was feeding too much into a delusion and stopped pretending that I was doing it for him when I was doing chores or work or whatever. I’m miserable, but it’s probably better than feeding such a strong fantasy. I still pray for the dreams. I’ve only had 2 or 3, but I was so calm and happy in them while he held me, and I was able to be happy for days in real life after I was gifted a dream of him. I wish I could have those dreams every night.
Don’t feel too bad. Even if you wanted to fix it and worked to fix it, nothing would really change. I wanted and worked for more than a decade to fix it, got 2 years of happiness to give me a taste, then had it all ripped away, and honestly things were better before I experienced happiness and knew how to cope. Now I know the joy that I’m missing and will forever be gone and it’s more miserable than never knowing happiness in the first place. Just keep running. Working doesn’t work.