Ineffable-monody

I know I sound dramatic but it’s been what 3 years now? And it’s flown by. I feel like we just broke up. And he’s already found someone. Someone who will love him, and give him intimacy, and someone he will notice.

I think every man I’ve ever loved has eventually looked through me. I become invisible. Or not enough. Or both.

I feel like this broken piece of nothing. Like a bird he crushed in his hand and dropped in the street. Like all my bones are broken and my feathers are gone and I can’t sing I can’t fly I can’t fucking breathe. All I know is numbness. Looking at everyone pass me by. I feel like I’m made of nothing. I feel nothing. I’m nothing.

I read a poem about how I was a girl until he called. And I don’t feel like a girl anymore. Not someone that is cute and looked at and considered. I feel like an invisible woman you pass in the grocery store and can’t remember her face. Someone driving a car in your dream. A blur. Just a body. Grey matter.

But then he’d also say I wasn’t trying enough. Was I even trying to be sexy anymore? As if he did for me? As if I had any capacity to try? As if that was my sole purpose on top of taking care of him like a child. He never made me FEEL sexy. So yeah, I didn’t try anymore.

He’d make comments about how unhealthy I was. How I reminded him of his grandma whose obesity became a disability. How concerned he was that I’d be out of breath on walks, but not concerned about the pain I was in that prevented me from being able to do more.

He’s only ever compliment me when I was at my grossest. When I felt completely low. And when I got done up and felt good about my appearance he said nothing. Never when I got dressed up for weddings. He made fun of my dresses. Never when other people said I looked good. He rolled his eyes.

I just feel like a ghost watching everyone live and not feeling seen by anyone. My sisters look through me. I watch them laugh and talk about boys and friends. And I have nothing to share.

Reading that book made me so sad. Reading about love. About boys that grab girls faces. And brush their hair away. And hold their hand and look at them in love. Who reassure them. Hold them. Gaze at them.

There’s this very small part of me that remembers what that felt like. I think it hurt me so much when that ended I put up such a strong wall that I don’t even let myself peek through the cracks anymore.

He did love me. He did hold my hand. We did run through the rain and hold each other and he gazed at me. He was my world. And I felt like I was his. Until I realized I wasn’t. When he stopped looking at me. And started looking at other girls. And asking for more. And it didn’t feel like love anymore.

And now I forgot that feeling. And I hate myself and my body so much I don’t know how a man could ever look at me that way again. ME. That someone would want ME.

I feel like I’ve just watched all the men I’ve loved and looked at like that move on and look at other girls like that. Love other girls like that. But not me.

And I’m scared I never will. And having to accept myself as I am. And accept being alone. I can’t do it. Honestly I’ve never said anything like this before but accepting that would make me want to kill myself. I wouldn’t really want to live the rest of my life knowing I’d have to do it all alone. I honestly couldn’t think of anything more painful than that.

- my resentment with my dad

- my weight and wanting to move my body

- my pain in my ankle

- wanting to do photography but not knowing how to start

- being a bad friend

- Brooke coming home

- losing interest in my hobbies like video games and apothecary writing

A memory came back about my mom looking at my chest at 12 years old and telling me “I want you to take care of that this weekend”. How? How was I supposed to do that at 12 years old with a time limit? I hid it. I picked at it. I scrubbed my skin with chemicals until I bled. I did that for years. I do that now.

I think it hit me today why I resonated so much with that show Dark. And with Jonas. I just want to go back. I want to go back to before all this shit happened. To at least my sophomore year of college. 2016. I feel like I’m stuck there. Like there’s this version of me that’s so innocent there. And I feel like Jonas looking through the window at his younger self with scars and dirty and bruised. A version of me that wasn’t raped. That wasn’t abused. That didn’t have surgery. That wasn’t hospitalized. That wasn’t my size now. Part of me hates her. I’m so jealous that I think seeing her I would hate her. For not having to go through what I’ve gone through. I feel robbed. I feel violated. I feel used and wasted and like I had everything going for me and that version of me would be married now. I’d probably be pregnant right now. Getting my baby’s room together. Decorating a house with someone that loved me. I’d be thin and happy and right on track. And instead I’m the Jonas that got left behind. The one that got stuck. And I’ll never have that. Or if I do it’ll be so much later than it was supposed to be. And it’ll be painful. And my health will suffer. And I just can’t see a way out.

I’m so mad at myself for getting to this point. For getting fat. For being depressed. For not showering. For not taking care of my teeth. For not having confidence. Not knowing how to dance. Not being interesting. Not having friends. Wasting my potential. Or letting these men take it from me so willingly.

How do I get back. How do I turn back time. Because even if I turn everything around right now I don’t think it’s enough. I think this life has been wasted. I’ll have to do all those things in my next life. This one I get to watch pass me by. And I feel like a ghost watching it happen. Everything is moving so fast around me and I’m standing still. And by the time I can move again everything and everyone will be gone and then what’s the point. Why do it at all.