Why do I punish myself?

Like I purposefully set myself up.

I wish I didn’t choose to see what someone else will have and I won’t ever again.

I wish I didn’t know.

I wish I could have at least pretended a little longer.

I wish I didn’t know you really never loved me. At least not for a while.

I talked to the kids at work recently about why emotions are called “feelings”. We talked about where we physically feel anger, joy, fear, anxiety and sadness. When I asked them where we feel sadness, they unanimously agreed sadness starts in the stomach.

Maybe that’s why I feel so nauseous.

It’s my fault, it’s really becoming a pattern.

I acted out of character again. Thinking I was going to feel some sort of petty validation. I wanted to hurt your feelings.

Instead I hurt my own.

I’m genuinely so annoyed and frustrated with myself.

I don’t want to be miserable but I’m so pulled to misery.

Like if self harm could be breaking your own heart.

I died my hair back to blonde tonight. I wanted to recognize my reflection again. To feel like myself again.

I still don’t.

How can I feel like myself when I gave so much of me away, to you?

I wish you could have given it back with all the other evidence of me left scattered in your world. In a bag on the porch.