Some people never learn. They never let themselves move on from what hurt them. I don’t think it’s masochism–no; I don’t think it’s so simple as that.
The girl doesn’t know how to love herself.
She clings to the delusions of the past, things that hurt, not because she wants them. She knows it could never be the same as the thought they once were, but she refuses to let go. She returns for pain because she thinks she deserves it. She does things, and says things, to hurt what she once held dear in her heart because she thinks she deserves the pain she gives. But it’s not her fault. I wish I could tell her it’s just not her fault. There’s nothing I could say though. It’s a boundary I can’t cross because of who I am to her; in her eyes I am a wrecker–a shatterer of beautiful delusions and the catalyst of her downfall. Only anonymity could hide that, but faceless influence only goes so far.
I see myself in her struggle often times. The anger, the hopelessness, the half-hearted love interests I knew would crash to the ground. The difference is that I learned what it meant not just to feel alone, but to truly be alone–what it meant to be self-reliant for food, money, transportation, entertainment, even company. It was in the abyss that I was able to understand that some things must be. That they hurt, but they shaped me into something better than before. That things which ended were meant to end, and that it’s okay. It’s all okay. I was hungry, but that was okay–I could drink tea and my belly would feel warm and full. I was lonely, but that was okay–I could read stories and quench my thirst for conversations with ones that had been written by a masterful mind. I did not have somebody to love, but that was okay–I learned to love myself, and I knew someone to love would follow. And it did.
I just had to let go of the past and the pain, and embrace myself and my surroundings.
But I can’t tell her that because she hates me. God does she hate me.