As a small, quiet child, I was taken advantage of constantly. I made friends who did not have my best interest in mind. I allowed them to step on me, because all I ever wanted was to be accepted.
As a shy, timid girl, I met a boy. I was kind of fond of him, and he was very fond of me. I grew to like him, while he grew to like others. He dragged me along, like a puppy on a leash, for years. He only ever told me he loved me, but could never tell me he was “in love” with me.
As a wild, reckless teen, I reconnected with an old friend. We would spend almost every night talking together, until the stars became the sun. There was no one in the world who made me laugh harder. Another friend told me he “only wanted to get in my pants.” I didn’t believe them. He began to distance himself. His words would eventually spit at me like venom. Becoming close again felt like trying to stretch my arm over the length of the Grand Canyon.
As a strong, independent teen, I made a friend. He was a year older than me. I fell fast and hard. I loved him more than I loved myself. He did not love me, but he pretended he did. Slowly he dug a hole around me. He dug me down so far, I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to get back up. I didn’t recognize my own face anymore. I didn’t know what I liked, what I disliked, or what I thought was funny. I didn’t know how to make myself feel anything at all. I was in a constant state of numbness.
As a broken-down, jaded adult. I signed up for a dating app “for the memes,” and to hopefully find some cool people along the way. I did. He loved me the way I thought no one ever would. I slowly broke down all of my walls, and built us a house in their place. At some point, things stopped adding up. I was held hostage in the house. He stood outside, and watched as he burnt it to the ground. His words were a fabricated story told by someone I don’t know. I sit, covered in ash, with the realization that losing this made-up person meant losing my best friend too. All of my memories are tainted. I’m left in a pile of burnt rubble with the faint smell of gasoline. Left alone to sift through what was real and what wasn’t. Using the remains to rebuild my walls.
2087
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