i can forgive other people so easily it makes me feel sick. like i hand it to them on a sliver of a platter, accept the smallest apologies for the worst things, and let it go. but myself, i can’t. i refuse. i remember everything. every mistake, every misstep, every word i shouldn’t have said. every version of me that failed. every time i let fear take over and walked away from who i wanted to be. i carry it all like a stone in my chest and it never leaves, no matter how much time passes. i’ve been attending my own funeral for years and i still can’t go home.
i think about all the versions of me that could’ve existed if i wasn’t like this. if i wasn’t so scared of everything, so trapped in my own comfort zone. if i wasn’t so inconsistent, so unmotivated to do even the things i wanted the most. new year comes, same goals, nothing finished. i think of the me that could’ve known better, the me that wasn’t so naive all the time. i wish i could go back and shake myself, tell myself to stop. stop talking. stop trusting. stop giving pieces of myself to people who didn’t even care. it’s humiliating. it actually makes me feel sick, remembering the way i was, how unaware i was of everything, how i let it all happen.
and the worst part is i think i knew it. i think i felt it the whole time, that they didn’t care about me the way i cared about them, and i still stayed. i made myself small and easy, gave them everything i had just so they might notice me, just so they might stay, and they didn’t. they still left. and i kept going back. kept hoping. kept begging in my head. like something in me refuses to learn. like i’d rather be treated like nothing than sit alone with myself and face how much i hate what i see.
i don’t even hate them anymore. i really don’t. maybe i never did. maybe i never hated them for it because i let it happen. i hate myself for it. for making it so easy. for sitting there and taking it like it was all i deserved. for pretending it didn’t hurt and then being shocked when it kept happening. feeling like i could’ve done something different, anything, and didn’t. i have no right to be angry at them for the way they treated me, because i let it happen.
and no one understands what it’s like to live like this. i can’t relax, can’t let my body fall apart the way people say i should. i’ve always lived like this, holding everything in so tight, and if i let go for even a second i’ll just… i’ll just break and never be able to put myself back together. like all the pieces will scatter and there’s nothing left to gather. and everyone talks about healing like it’s simple, like i can just let go and be okay, but how? how am i supposed to do that when letting go feels like disappearing, like i’ll vanish if i stop holding everything in?
there are parts of me i hate. parts i don’t even want to admit are mine. i wish i could just rip them out and be someone else, someone who doesn’t do this, someone who doesn’t ruin everything, who doesn’t embarrass themselves, who doesn’t beg for care in ways that push people away. i don’t want to accept them. i don’t want to grow from them. i just want them gone.
but they don’t leave. they sit there, in the back of my head, screaming at me, reminding me of everything i wish i could forget. every version of me i wish i wasn’t. every moment i wish i could erase. it just stays. i can’t move on from it. it’s all still here, and it feels like it always will be.
and i don’t think i’ll ever be able to look at myself without it all collapsing on me at once. like every broken version of me is stacked on top of each other, and the loudest, ugliest ones are the only ones anyone ever hears. it’s exhausting, carrying all of it, like i’ll never get a moment of quiet inside my own head.

















