Feelings from deep inside

In the beginning, when I needed you the most, you were there for me. You held my hand, you held my heart, you held me. You told me that you would always be there for me. I told you everything, my deepest darkest secrets. You knew. You knew what you were getting into when you took me into your arms and into your life.

And you promised.

You promised you would always be there for me.

You promised that you would always hold me.

You promised that you would always listen to me.

You promised that you would always talk to me.

You promised….

But I was very afraid. I was afraid of how incredibly fucked up I was.

I was afraid I would hurt you and in the future I just proved how worthless I was in that department. I did hurt you, and I took responsibility for that and I beat myself up every day over how incredibly fucked up and stupid I was.

I was afraid because I could keep my own secrets, but having someone else know them meant that it was possible for someone else to tell them.

For the longest time I was afraid that you would tell my secrets. And you did to some extent. But of course I forgave you, because you were my everything.

It meant that this giant wall that I had put up all around me could crumble even more at any possible moment.

It meant that someone cared, and they cared deeply about me.

I could not understand that, I had never had it before. No one was ever there for me like you were. No one cared to get deep enough into my mind to try to figure out what was going on in there. Except doctors and therapists. And that was their jobs.

But you, you meant it when you said you wanted to be there, you meant it when you asked how I felt, you really, truly wanted to know what was going on inside me and you did everything in your power to help.

It was hard what I put you through. I know that. I did not mean to put you through anything like that. But it was hard what I went through too.

I did not ask to be dealt this hand in life. I did not ask to have mental illness passed on to me through some fucked up genes in my family.

I did not ask to always have to struggle and fight with the things that go on inside my mind.

I did not ask to be sexually abused, molested, raped.

I did not want these things, I DO NOT want these things.

And I damn well do not want the memories, the flash backs, the nightmares that are associated with them.

But unfortunately after years and years they are still there fresh in my mind. And I wish they would just fuck off and I could forget it. Truly.

I cannot even go to certain places without being triggered, I cannot see certain things without being triggered. Stupid things that should not bother me end up being something that causes my body to shake and my heart to beat faster and faster. I wish this would just go the fuck away.

In more recent years I have been afraid in a different way. I have been afraid that we are living some lie. That the closeness that we once had is gone.

And I realize that you are sick too and I try to not cause you any extra stress and I hold things in instead of talking to you about them.

And this is causing me stress.

It is like blowing up a balloon, there is only so much air that can fit before the balloon explodes.

I no longer tell you my dreams, my inspirations, my fears.

I hold things in, pushing them deeper and deeper down some deep dark endless pit.

Then I explode. I hurt. I cry. I swear. I pretend not to care.

But truth is, I care too deeply, because if I did not, it would not hurt.

And it hurts.

A lot.

I don’t mean to be a burden. And that hurts too. Because I am afraid that if I tell you anything or bring up anything that I am going through that this will be the cause of another seizure. That I will be the one to make it happen.

So I hold it in. I struggle. I hate myself. And there are days that I barely live.

Then I know that there is so much more of the time that I am so in love with you that I just want to hold you and do anything for you.

When I say “I love you” it is not out of familiarity, it is because each and every time I say it, I truly mean the words. “I love you” does not come out of my mouth unless I mean it, and then it comes from my heart, somewhere deep within in, with a deep honest feeling.

And I do love you, but I am struggling right now, in ways that I cannot even begin to explain. In ways that you have told me you cannot handle.

And I am sorry if I need validation. That is me, it has always been me, ever since we have been together, and nothing has changed there, nothing.