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The Year of Self-Discovery


Fionnuala

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So, I have been getting back into writing lately as a means of dealing with all of my issues, particularly those relating to my relationships with men, and I feel like it's really been helping me to recognize things about myself that have affected me for a long time. So, I'm going to try and write at least one entry every day for a year. We'll see how it goes. Thought it might be nice to post my journaling somewhere. Getting comments from others always sort of helps in my self-discovery.

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I remember every moment. Every single time. They always forget. But I never do, no matter what, every second of what happened remains emblazoned on my brain. I can never decide if it’s a blessing or a curse, my memory. I have to hold it back so much of the time, not tell people what I remember. They seem a little freaked out when I can tell them the details of the first time we met, what they were wearing, where they were sitting, what they said to me. But I still remember. Even if I don’t want to.

 

Sometimes it can be too much. Scenes keep playing over and over in my mind, and I should let go of them and move on, but they keep coming back and not letting me go. It’s partly my fault, I indulge them. Maybe that’s why I remember so much. Because I don’t let myself forget.

 

Right now it’s you that is in my brain.

 

Dancing with you was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Not because you’re so special and I’m so into romanticizing things, although I am, but because I really have never done that. There was something inherently romantic about being so close to you and swaying to the music, and the way you looked at me as you sang along. I remember looking around at everyone else dancing together – the real couples – and thinking how much I want that to be a part of my life always. How nice it would be if it were real, and not just me dancing with a guy who was not a part of my real life. Not you necessarily, but someone who could make me feel the way I felt in that moment more than just once. Someone who I could love who would love me back, not just someone I could pretend with for a night. There are few times in my life I have felt that good in that way. I remember when it ended and you kissed my cheek and thanked me for the dance, and then we were apart again and someone was talking to us and it felt almost a little embarrassing. Like it took someone else addressing me for me to realize how intimate it felt and how lightheaded I felt afterwards, and it suddenly felt like it should not have been in front of other people. I know it didn’t mean anything, but it felt good to me, and I will remember whether I like it or not.

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For a long time now, I have felt like my greatest desire - or maybe not the greatest, but definitely one of the biggest - is to find someone to spend my life with. I am not one of those people who was meant to be alone. I long for a partner to share things with - my ups, my downs, the good and the bad. Even if I go a long time feeling generally ok about being alone, I still feel it when I go to sleep at night: that longing for someone next to me, to just feel ok with as I fall asleep. It always seemed like a given, something that would happen naturally when the time came. And maybe that's it, maybe the time hasn't come. Maybe I only feel like I'm ready and really I'm not.

 

I have been wondering about this a lot lately, because it seems like everyone else is finding someone and I'm still waiting. More than that, it seems like everyone I do end up being interested in is emotionally or otherwise unavailable in some way. They say this is a sign of being unready to commit yourself. That if I were really ready, I would not be attracted to or get so hung up on these people. I don't know if this is true, but lately I've been wondering if it is. I wonder if somewhere inside I'm afraid of having a real relationship, and so I unconsciously look for those men who are not available to me.

 

If this is the case, then what am I afraid of? I'm not afraid of committing to someone, but I am afraid of them leaving me. I'm afraid of the fact that even if I get married and make the ultimate commitment and never have any intention of breaking it, that he could change his mind at any time for any reason and I will have no say in it. I hate that. It terrifies me. I don't want to feel the way I felt after Karl ever again.

 

And sometimes I wonder if that's all this comes down to. I don't know if I was this way before him, but sometimes I wonder if I'm just subconsciously trying to fix that. Like something inside of me thinks if I can take someone who is emotionally distant and make him love me, it will cancel that out and prove that I'm worth loving. Like someone else can prove to me that I am worth being okay for. That if someone who is otherwise unwilling to commit wants to commit to me that is proof that I am somehow special and amazing. I don't know. It all sounds stupid, and I don't know if any of this is the real issue, but it has to be something right? And I don't go around thinking any of this consciously, but it's definitely there on some level.

 

It's been almost 4 years since we broke up, and for the most part I'm good. I feel like I dealt and moved on with my life and I hardly ever think of him anymore. But sometimes I still do, and sometimes it's still fine. But sometimes I do, and my heart feels broken all over again, and the wounds feel dull and small and old, but never truly gone.

 

I developed a lot of insecurities back then that I still struggle with. I'm afraid of intimacy. I'm ok with kissing, but anything beyond that - especially anything involving clothes coming off - and I start to get scared and insecure. What if I'm not good enough, what if he's bored, what if we have sex and suddenly he starts to pull away from me? I have other issues related to sex that have nothing to do with past experiences, but these are definitely there too. And I'm terrified of people thinking I'm crazy, or stupid, or unstable, especially guys. I'm always afraid of being the "crazy ex" or "that crazy ***** I hooked up with." So much so that I think it's become something of a self-fulfilling prophecy. The minute we start to get involved, it's like everything in me starts screaming, "please like me! Please don't think I'm crazy! Please want me for something other than my body! Please don't leave! Please!" And it becomes all I can do not to act accordingly.

 

So there it is, I guess. I'm scared and I'm insecure. Two things I never used to be and certainly never expected to be, but nonetheless it's what I am. So what now? How do I go back to being the girl I used to be? The one who thought she was awesome and beautiful and no one could tell her otherwise. How do I stop looking for validation from others and stop going for men who do nothing but reinforce my fears? I don't even know where to begin.

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I remember the first time I felt this way. The first time “you're hot” gave me those mixed feelings of being flattered and feeling objectified. The first time being told I was sexy didn't feel like a compliment, but instead somehow made me feel less like a person. I was fourteen.

 

I can't pinpoint why it felt that way, I just know that when you looked at me and constantly complimented the way I looked instead of my brain or my talent or my sense of humor, I started to feel like maybe those things didn't matter. Maybe all that mattered was that I was pretty. Not even pretty. Hot. Sexy. An object to be admired and lusted after, but never respected or loved, or even liked. Like I didn't deserve any of that.

 

And I remember when it hit me that I felt that way. It was at a church retreat of all places, and I don't remember how the service got there, but somehow we ended up on the topic of women's self-worth and God's love and I don't even know what else, but I started bawling and I couldn't stop. A girl next to me I barely even knew held me and I cried and cried and cried, because I needed to hear that so badly. I needed to hear that I was worth something. That I was more than just a body and what was inside mattered. I mattered. My heart, my brain, my feelings, not just my boobs and my ass and whatever other dumb **** guys care about. It happened without me even realizing, but at some point I stopped believing that myself and needed someone to tell me.

 

That was thirteen years ago, and I wish I could say that was the end of it. I wish I could say that by 16 I didn't have the feeling that I could barely walk down the street alone without being followed, or whistled at or honked at, but still never felt like any guy really wanted to get to know me as a person. I wish I could say that I don't still remember the words of some random jack ass, mad that I wouldn't give him my number, yelling at me as I walked away, “Fine! At least this way I can look at your booty. That's the only beautiful part of you anyway.” I wish it had never crossed my mind that maybe he was right.

 

But I am twenty-seven years old, and I know that I am smart, and talented, and funny, loyal, caring, and a million other wonderful things. I know that any man would be lucky to have me as a partner. Still, when I end up involved with a guy, he won't tell me that I'm smart, or that he thinks I'm funny, or that he likes talking to me. Or if he does, I either won't hear it or won't believe it. But I can guarantee that he will tell me how amazing my breasts are and how much he loves my ass. And that little voice inside will say, “See? This is what you have to offer. This is who you are. This is what matters.”

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