Almost forgotten memories
Touch, taste, smell
Hands, soft on smooth skin

Desire of things forbidden
Need long laid aside
Still wanting

Dreaming in heartbreaking clarity
The words, the smiles, the tears
The memory of home being in your arms

Empty spaces
Lost longing
Between you, me, us

The worst part is the disappointment.
In others, for making me believe in them, for making me trust them and open my heart to them, and then abusing me and neglecting me and taking me for granted.
In myself, for being foolish enough to believe that I wouldn’t get hurt. For thinking that if I loved hard enough, tried hard enough, it would be different. For compromising myself to make someone else feel safe, and then letting their insecurities control who I was. For not being strong enough to stand up for myself sooner. For hurting someone else, someone I love and care about. For getting my friends caught in the crossfire.

I need to stop being so hard on myself.

Give me a word you can keep.

“Why me?”

I don’t need to ask the question. Every pore, every fibre, every single part of my being knows the answer without needing to.

Because it’s who I am. I don’t hold back. I love with every inch. Feel completely. Care without censure. It’s just the way things are. The way they’ve always been. This is why I used to isolate myself. Why I kept to just a handful of friends. Loving too freely took too much of a toll. Even now, I cannot stop the pain, the hurt, the betrayal of trust. But I no longer try. I love, or hate, with a deep intensity that is barely contained. A fragile strength. A thin veneer of confidence, of self-awareness, of knowledge, keeping the wave of emotion at bay. Cracks appearing when I open myself up and let another in, an exquisite pain that is worth every tear. It might be delicate, but it holds. Like a spider’s web. Like a secret smile shared between confidants. I have others to support me now, others who know what lies beneath, or at least a glimpse. Others who understand it is all or nothing. That every time, in every way, it is me entirely that throws myself into the void. Even when it’s foolish. Even when I know better. Even when I swear black and blue that it’s going to be different. Maybe this is why it hurts so much, because I don’t know how to be reserved, how to hold back. Or maybe I do, but it offers me nothing but mediocrity. Nothing but a lacklustre half-life. Shadows and hints at what might be, muted palettes, but never the full rainbow, never the stark and life-like perfection of colour, mad, intense, thought provoking colour. Love and hate strewn across a canvas littered with every other shade of emotion. Disgust. Delight. Elation. Despair. Apathy. Determination. I take it all, every sweet and sour moment. Every cut, every lash, every lie. But only to a point. I will not sacrifice my all for your nothing. I will lay it all out there, give myself to you, but only those truly worthy can hope to hold it. I cannot play both halves, I need someone to catch me when I fall.

I chose this pain. This life. It may not be perfect. Others may question my sanity, or the inherent lack thereof, but it is mine.

And I never wonder why me. I know. I always have.

I’m not jealous and clingy. I don’t demand every second of your attention. I don’t expect you to spend hundreds of dollars on gifts or dates. I have no inclination to meet the family or have you meet mine. Hell, I don’t even expect to be the top priority in your life all the time, I understand that sometimes other things require greater attention than the girlfriend, and that’s OK. Also, I’m terrified of commitment (it’s actually one of my anxiety triggers), and discussing our mutual future is likely to see me burst into tears, pass out, or throw up. I’m perfectly comfortable in having a committed relationship, I just never want to talk about it or set down concrete plans. I’ve been fucked over too many times and I’m still dealing with the fallout.

I’m perfectly fine with going to a movie or a band on my own. With going out to a club alone. I’m self-assured and independent and I don’t need you to hold my hand in order to do something I want, and this has pretty much been who I am since I was a kid (just ask my mother, she’ll tell you).

Also, I don’t treat any of my friends any differently because I’m in a relationship. Yes, there may be one or two that I have toned down the affection with or have had to ask to back off a little because the boyfriend at the time hasn’t liked the interaction, but fuck it, they’re my friends. They were before you, they will be after you, and whilst I’ll be considerate to your needs, I’m not going to just stop being myself around my friends because you don’t like it. Grow up!!

This also means that once our relationship is over, I am more than likely to go back to treating you in the exact same way that I treat my other friends. You will cop the jokes, the sarcasm, the wit. You will have to endure the divine torture that is me being me and treating you with respect and politeness and teasing the hell out of you. You will have to deal with me being an outright bitch without ever having to do anything bitchy at all because you’re being a sulky little puppy. And I will be nice. I will be polite. I will be the Queen of Snark. And I will be your friend through all of it, even when you wish I was dead.

I have never been the typical girlfriend. In what world do you think I could ever be the typical ex?

But I’ve had enough of fighting in despair. All I want right now is to be held & told it will all be ok. I just want to stop waiting for it to change.

Arriahne Worthy (31 March, 2012)