How long does it take until you can forgive yourself for something you’ve done? Not something you regret, but something that at the time, seemed like the best thing to do?
I was starting to feel happy at the time. For the first time in years, since my ex, I was in love. I started to think I actually deserved to be happy. But it was all too good to be true. When the person you start to love, the one you’re building a life around does something so cruel and so hurtful, you wonder what is there to live for. Your heart is so beaten and tired, that every day becomes a battle to find a reason to keep living. If someone who says they love you, can do something so evil and deliberately try destroy you, who else is there left to trust? You just give up, because it’s less painful to be dead than alive (obviously).
I blame myself for giving up. I should’ve been more resilient. Some people go through so much worse and don’t fall apart. I know I shouldn’t have given up so easily but it’s not the first time I wanted to die and it won’t be the last. I’d be lying if I said I don’t think about it anymore. I realise now, I was ill, but still. But guilt. The guilt is what makes it worse. The weekend before, sobbing on the phone to my mum, telling her I needed help. She was helpless herself, the effects of a cancer riddled body, and here I was wanting to die. What a shitty selfish daughter.
The night I did it, I was so destroyed I didn’t care. I wanted to die. The thought of living just another day, with the hurt and emptiness, and knowing what another human is capable of doing to someone they said they loved. But then, more guilt. The paramedics that had to deal with me, when they could’ve been dealing with someone so much more worthy of their time. Someone who wanted to live, not some pathetic waste who’d given up because some prick of a man did something unforgivable and I wasn’t strong enough to walk away. Guilt. It can tear you down. It makes a coward of you.
I never told my mum what happened that night. She had an idea but I could never tell her. All she knew when a nurse called her was that I was in hospital but I was ok. She never really asked me what happened to put me in there, I think she knew but if I told her, it would’ve ruined her. How could I be such a selfish shitty daughter? What a shitty thing to do when your mum is dying and would do anything to live.
So there I have it. 2 years and a day. I’m still alive. Still here, still making stupid decisions. But I’m not the gullible naive person I used to be. I’m not trusting anymore. One thing you learn quickly is who you can and can’t trust. Who you can and can’t believe. I know when someone is lying to me, and when someone says they’ll do something with me, I know they probably won’t. I know. Maybe it’s because they’ll forget or maybe they never meant it in the first place. Whether or not they realise this is something else. Because maybe they don’t realise how damaged and fucked up I am. You live what you learn, and I learnt that sometimes people will tell you anything to appease, or say what you think you want to hear.
I don’t know what kind of person I’ll be in another 2 years. If I’ll still be here in 2 years. Still untrusting. Still making mistakes and getting my heart broken by men who don’t love me back. Somethings will never change. But I hope the guilt goes away. I hope more than anyone, I can forgive myself. Because I don’t think anyone could hate me as much as I hate myself right now. And there’s too much pain already to keep carrying in my heart.
tetheredinthedeepend 