a l h

25, pisces. my links

[alhwrites]

I don’t go looking for love anymore, but I do often wonder if it’s nearby

[alhwrites]

I liked you better when you felt safe to be around.

[alhwrites]

I couldn’t run to you, so I ran away from you.

[alhwrites]

He makes situations confusing because someone being confused works in his favor. Do not let this go over your head. Confusion is a gateway to manipulation. The more time you spend trying to make sense of what he’s thinking or doing, the less time you spend acting. Everything with him feels like it’s in the gray area because he loves being able to keep you there. If he wanted it to be clear for you, he would make it abundantly so, and that applies to anything. Ask yourself: do you even like when someone is so on-and-off with you? Do you even like having to analyze their words because they can’t just offer you clarity? Do you even like living in a constant state of uncertainty and doubt at the hands of someone who is supposed to care about you?

[alhwrites]

They always throw what they turned you into in your face. It’s done so casually, too; they call you it like it’s your name. Saying it so nonchalantly makes it easier to deny the part they played in pushing you there, because when it’s said like it’s a natural description of you, if your ears perk up and you question what they’re saying, you look reactive, and that only helps their victim complex. By the time we ended things, his favorite way to describe me was “mean.” I know another common one is “crazy.” “Angry” and “hateful,” too. It used to bother me so much—which I’m sure he loved—because I know I’m not mean. I guess I can be, when I want to, but I never want to, so I try to choose my words carefully especially when I’m talking to someone I care about. Knowing that begs the question: was I mean, or just honest? Because I can admit I didn’t hesitate to call him out when he fell short on his promises. But was it really mean, or was I just making you confront things about your life and yourself that you didn’t like? His overuse of the word…it made me want to grab him and shake him, and scream in his face, “Was I mean when you met me? Was I mean then? Or was I sweet, and gentle, and loving?” We both know the answer. “Mean” is the aftermath of a careless lover. Because this isn’t me. This is a reflection of you; what a woman becomes in your presence is the most honest feedback you’ll ever receive about the type of man you are.

[alhwrites]

consider that your fear of abandonment has less to do with someone actually leaving you, and more to do with how you abandon yourself by compromising on your needs and boundaries when you’re trying to get someone to stay.

[alhwrites]

His idea of comfort was always getting away from me.

[alhwrites]

you don’t love me, you love that I sit around waiting for you because you know how valuable time is, and it feels special knowing that I’m wasting mine on you.

[alhwrites]

Just because they’re avoidant, doesn’t mean you’re anxious. If you’re only this dysregulated in their presence, you don’t have an “anxious attachment,” you’re having a natural reaction to the behaviors and patterns being presented to you that, by design, would disrupt your nervous system. If it’s not how you show up to most things in your world, then it’s not you. You feel unsafe, and with good reason. If you were anxiously attached, you would feel it in more aspects of your life, and it would affect more than one relationship you’re in. Don’t let their avoidance define your entire existence.

[alhwrites]

men think that your silence means peace because that’s what they wanted from you. they think they trained you to accept their behavior. they don’t want to be challenged into being a better person. whole time, it means you stopped caring about them like you used to. probably partly because you don’t believe they can be better anymore, and staying with them means settling for a relationship—and a life—that’s less than what you want.

[alhwrites]

I am nothing if not versatile. A month ago I was having suicidal thoughts, a week ago I was punching a keyboard, yesterday I was crying, and today I am at peace.

[alhwrites]

He’s playing emotional chess, I’m building a life where he’s not even on the board.

[alhwrites]

is it silly to admit that I started texting how he texts and talking how he talks because I don’t want to give him any more pieces of me? that I don’t want him getting to experience any part of my personality anymore? I’m not trying to copy him so he thinks we’re similar. I’m trying to be similar so he thinks I’m bland.

[alhwrites]

I wish, just once, that choosing someone else could still feel like choosing myself because they were actually good to me.

[alhwrites]

if it seems like he’s always at war with you—

argumentative with you, verbally combative, in constant disagreement, bickering, in an ego contest, trying to contend with you, playing devil’s advocate all the time, conversations feel like you’re going toe to toe, conflict, resolutions are hard to come by, apologies without change, just a general consensus that he is against you as opposed to on your team

—it’s because he is. because he is at war with himself, and you love him, he is at war with you.

[alhwrites]

being nice without having boundaries is just being a doormat. and that unfortunately invites people to walk all over you

[alhwrites]

I sent him videos. I came up with lists of questions to ask him in an effort to understand him better. I cried. I tried to give him space when he wanted to be distant. I tried to stay close when I thought he might need a shoulder. I journaled. I cried. I initiated the serious talks. I initiated the vulnerable talks. I initiated the hard talks. I cried. I ended the relationship when that seemed like what he wanted, but couldn’t do himself. I cried. I communicated with him when I felt unloved and I told him exactly what I needed. I cried. I forgave him when he ignored me. I forgave him when he forgot my birthday. I forgave him every time he apologized and said he would do better. I cried. I did everything. I did nothing. I tried to read the room. I cried. I’ve waited almost two years for him to be ready to be a partner, and I’ve paid the expense of feeling myself slip away. My patience has cost me my peace, my softness, my worth: a pickaxe chipping away at a block of ice. But instead of creating a sculpture, these parts of me that were once whole are now just rubble on the ground. And now, I’m “mean.” Because the gentleness with which I used to handle our conflict got lost somewhere in the number of days I was expected to have it, even after it didn’t grant the change I was hoping for. After all that, after all the underlying chaos he didn’t have to witness, after all the dysregulation his intermittent reinforcement caused, and I get reduced to “mean.”