I wish I met you first.
Before he broke me.
Let's be honest, I clearly am. Broken. I wasn't exactly mint condition before he got his hands on me, but he sure did a number. I still think back at times, and blame myself when I know I shouldn't. Now there's a sign that someone is broken. Knowing that you shouldn't do something, but doing it anyway because your heard and your brain can't seem to communicate together. Sometimes we don't understand what this means. We don't realize just how deeply we feel things. Outside, we may seem to have it all figure out, we may be thriving, but still there is a war going on in our minds. You may not notice it, but I am. Broken. You seem to think highly of me; and while that should encourage me, it only makes me feel worse. What if I disappoint you? I am living a lie. You think I am so amazing, but I am so broken. I can't let you see. I still cry when I think of what could have been. I don't tell you, but that's why. Broken. Clearly, as I am leaking. I wish that the bad times weren't bad because the good times were so good! That's how they get you, though. He was perfect at first, but in the end he was exactly the opposite. There were signs I should have noticed, though. Broken. I couldn't see the signs, because he broke me. I was blinded. He told me I was a good singer. He loved it when I sang. It was part of what attracted him to me. Shortly after, he would tell me to shut up. Tell me I was too loud. Tell me I was a bad singer, no one wanted to hear that. Broken. If I was a good singer at the start, then suddenly I was a bad singer, I must be. Broken. I couldn't see that it wasn't me, but him. He used to tell me I was beautiful. He loved when I got dressed up, make up and hair all nice. He showed me off. I loved it. Then he stopped thinking I was pretty. He called me a scumbag in the middle of Walmart one day. Not just that one day, but that day in particular he did. Around children and parents. I hadn't done my hair, my clothes were lazy and baggy, I hadn't done my make up. Broken. I looked different than when we first got together, so I must be. It had nothing to do with the fact he wouldn't give me the time. Not at all. When he would suddenly say we were leaving, rarely tell me where we were going. I would say let me get dressed, only to be told that there was no time. If I tried to stay home, for fear of looking like a scumbag, he would scream at me. I wasn't allowed to stay home, and I wasn't allowed to take more than five minutes to get ready. Broken. He always built me up before he tore me down. Subtly, every time I did get dolled up, he'd ask me who I was trying to look good for. Who was I trying to impress? The thought of losing him could kill me, because no one else would ever love me as much as he did. Broken. I must have been, to believe that was true. The real heart break, though, was being told that he wouldn't leave me if I miscarried. Only to find out a week after my loss that he traded me in. Broken. Losing the chance to have one of my own. Broken. Knowing that he knocked up the harlot he left me for while I still am yearning for a little one to love.
Before I Fell Apart.
Before I Had No One.
I don't have a father. I have a sperm donor. He couldn't be bothered to love me, either. There was never a "positive" role model for me growing up. That's how it began. He left first, then mom was never around. Even when she wasn't working, she wasn't really there for me. I felt very alone all of my life. Kids at school never really wanted to be my friend, either. Probably because I wasn't like them. I wore weird clothes because we were so poor, and I smelled bad because mom smoked in the house. On top of that, I was socially awkward. I never really learned how to act around other people. Just when I was starting to make friends, we moved away. I had to start all over. Even now, I pick the wrong people. I think I have made a friend, only to be abandon again.
[color=#663399]Compliments make me uncomfortable. You can never know if the person saying them is sincere. Even if you think you can trust them, you'd be surprised. Dressing up makes me feel guilty. I don't feel that I deserve to look nice. I feel like a failure. Nothing has gone according to plan and it makes me feel as though I have wasted years of my life. I feel unloved. Not that you don't love me, but more of a 'why would anyone..' sense. I'm not worth loving. I'm not worth knowing. I'm sorry, that I apologize so often and for no reason. This is why. I'm not all here right now. You don't have all of me, because I don't even have all of me.
Where were you?
I wish I met you first. I wish I had known you all my life. I wish I wasn't so screwed up by the time you found me.
I'll be okay. I'm just broken. Slowly, I am gluing myself back together. Once in a while, you hand me a little shard of myself that I didn't even realize was missing. Thank you. For everything you have done for me. I don't think you realize just what you mean to me or how far I have come in the short time we have been together. Yes, even we have our conflicts. I am so happy, though, that I found you. We never argue and you don't make me cry like the others. I almost forgot what it felt like. To be okay. I'm getting better. One day, I will be whole again. One day, I will forget I was ever so shattered. One day you will have all of me. Thank you, for putting up with my convolutions. For looking after me, and being that voice of reason when I don't know how to act or my sanity when I get too wild. You ground me.