Deliberate.

I commented on a post the other day, and because I'm the kind of person who has revelations in her comments on places that aren't her blog, there was a part of this comment that hit me and knocked me down. I came straight here, opened up my "drafts" and started typing this for you.

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I've always felt like I was on the outside. Ever since I was a child. I watched people playing and laughing and talking and loving. Sure sometimes I would catch the sound of my giggles, but even as I was involved it was like I was watching from afar as it all played out. Laughter sounded strange from my throat.

I've cared about a few people in my life. When I care, I care deeply. Your pain, it becomes my pain.
I could give you several names right now of the people who meant the most to me, who still do mean that much to me even if we no longer talk.
The BFF is one of those people. I feel so lucky to have found my way back to her. To have been able to pick up where we left off. This trust, a bond like sisters, just without the fighting.
There are a few others. Others I haven't seen in years and my heart aches. It adds to the bitter cold loneliness. To feel that ripped from you. That trust and admiration.

I stopped caring a long time ago. Before most these people crossed into my life, but they still penetrated the walls, and when I put new ones up they would scale them and find another way to reach me. But I always built, and learnt to build quickly. Faster than they could climb.
I also did a lot of reckless and mean things. Things designed to hurt. On purpose. To push them away, and to punish myself because I never felt worthy of their company, even if I wanted it. I felt as though I tainted them. I ruined their wonderfulness.

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Eventually as they all left my life, I hurt.
This was my own doing. I knew it would hurt, that I would want them back, but I still pushed. Deliberate.

So I struggle to love. I struggle with the notion of it. I crave it. I want it. I need it.
I repeat my mistakes.
I am still deliberate.
Because somehow pain is easier if it's self inflicted.
I know that people will come and go in my life, but I am not strong enough to deal with the leaving.

And I feel bad for those who are left with me. For Mr Black, who is stuck with this angry shell of a person, for my children who get all the best of me but it never seems enough, for those who reach out but it's so dark I cannot see they are reaching for me, but rather I just see hands that I bat away in fear.

I still cut myself off from loving. It feels like as soon as I open that gate, just a crack, all this pain and disappointment comes in.
My children, I will do anything for. Beyond them I am an island just out of reach. I'm not sure I want anyone to cross those waters.

Comments are off guys. If you want to show support I'd appreciate if you shared this post. Sometimes I just don't want to talk any more about something.