I always think of one day. One day in a future that I can hardly wait for. The future I dream of involves him and his goodness. Always him and his inherent goodness that I have fallen in love with over and over again everyday. Maybe one day that goodness will include a child of our own with a head of light brown hair just like his. I hope. I think about it often, mostly before I fall asleep. It is calming to dream of a reality where my pieces are whole and glued together and I can be made happy by the things that should make me happy in this life.
If I have done anything right, it has been him. Meeting him, kissing him, holding him, falling in love with him. He does not see me as disjointed pieces being held together by luck. I am whole and I am a force of nature to him. That fact empowers me on my worst days and makes me even stronger on my best. One day, I hope that the bond we share now becomes permanent and I can sleep next to the man who has helped me in ways that he does not even know every night. I love him and I want to marry him and everything I have never found myself deserving of. I want it with him. I do, I do, I do. Only with him, forever.
I guess I haven’t been doing very good lately. Not for a while, now that I think about it. The worst thing about these feelings is how they can lay dormant for so long and come back with a vengeance. This all started when I began to remember. Maybe before then, because I always felt something was wrong but I didn’t know the name for it until I was much older.
People have always looked at me like I was a loser and a nobody and maybe I am a loser. I’m not here to argue that point, but what happened to me happens to more than nobody. I’ve only told two people about it in my life but recently I can’t stop thinking about it and reliving the instances from my childhood. I wish the memories would go away again. I don’t want to deal with this and I want to forget this happened to me. There is no beautifully cinematic way to deal with this, I know because I have the scars to prove it.
Some days, I am so proud of my supposed strength, but most other days I am reminded of my wounds opened to the air around me. This has led to so much badness in my life and I want him to know how much he messed me up. I was seven and I just wanted a loving surrogate family that didn’t stay up screaming at each other over financial problems until four in the morning. I guess I got that. I got that and more. But Jesus, do I wish I would have been strong enough to just stay home those nights.