It's a sin to tell a lie. The spark hurt more than it granted its natural high. It abated so
quickly; what regular people call a new couple's honeymoon phase lasted five
minutes. We bonded strongly with each other too early on.
Like any person committing to displaying feigned emotions in order to groom another, I could tell he was getting bored
of me three months in. He had stopped doing nearly everything that gave me a
sheer reassurance that I was with the right person. Soon enough, I'd be finding myself in a haze of confusion and self-doubt.
It wasn't needed in my life. I didn't ask
for this prison of a connection or to be retroactively jealous of every single
thing or person he did before me. He swept me off my feet only to leave me
wondering what I did wrong once the initial attraction he had to me transformed into a compulsion.
I couldn't tell if it was love involving
its typical ups and downs or a completely unfavourable situation. Until I
opened my eyes, I didn't know what was going on as I couldn't put two and two
together that if a man flirts with every woman he comes into contact with,
there is no reason for my presence. In fact, it took me years to come to the
following realizations.
It couldn't be more obvious. The purposeless
pain, the betrayals, the lies — everything I didn't need came to fruition. Up
my alley existed nothing more than to be the best emotional punching bag to the
men I fell in love with. No matter what I did, I was chained to such a fate.
Once flying, I
soared through my delusions of what true happiness looked like. It wasn't the
hedonism alone that ruined me; it gnawed at the remainder of my integrity as I
sat there coming to terms with my life's decisions. There was nothing quite
like looking at yourself in the mirror after having amounted to so little. And
being cut deep by men so below me in every way possible was its own
mind-altering experience.
That wasn't a joke.
I sunk so low I couldn't feel joy, desire, purpose, will; the other things that
make you come alive, all in a moment, swept away was I along with my
personality. I began to regret nothing I did that revealed how clearly I was
damaged. They won every time. It started to sink in deep how worthless I was as
a whole. I'd wonder, that if I died, would there be anyone who would miss me at
all.
The opportunity to
fuck someone with low self esteem over is more perfect a gift than a doll, I
suppose. I steadily watch out for myself these days. You cannot break what has
already been broken, where it remains forevermore in fragments.
My mind is
sensitive, like petals belonging to a flower. I do not forgive and cannot
forget for the life of me. Traumatic conversations are stored word for word in
my mind, especially ones that should have been let go of, minimal backhands, and
frivolous insults. Anything that indicates I am an easy target that comes out
of the mouth of a perpetrator I will die remembering like it was yesterday.
Happiness is a
choice. But that insipidity isn't. Borderline doesn't allow you to be free from
your trauma; it shows up in one's thoughts, feelings and behavioural patterns.
It's why drug use is so prevalent in my life. What was once a flame had water
poured over it, and is never to be lit again. Because that was my spirit. I
stay down just to assure myself these things can't happen again.
However, I must admit when one truly puts
their mind towards a goal, results do appear.
Having exceeded my tolerance for the endless
dejection I felt, I coped with the dissatisfaction that came alongside my
failures and life's mistakes with monthly arketamine abuse. I had just turned
twenty-six, and I finally wanted to introduce myself to the famous dissociative
anaesthetic. Never did I before see such beautiful days in my life.
I wish I had done
it sooner. Awestruck by this drug alone, I didn't know such happiness was possible,
fake or not. A high is a forced state of mind via chemical changes in the brain.
And I would say life does the same thing.