Hurt

Before I get tripped up in the length, magnitude, and etymology of that word, like the clichéd voice-over intro of a bad indie movie, I pause to admit what I often ignore, that I am hurt. I have been hurt. I am still hurt. I have hurt others. And it is unlikely that I will ever be able to move past that simple fact.

I know no one reads this blog. It is that assurance, that no one will ever know of this place or read these words, that I put this all out into the world in the hopes that the hurt might lessen some.

I spent the better part of my first 22 years of life trying to get my father to love me. A waste of time, I'm sure anyone would agree. Life isn't truly lived if it's spent on someone else's terms, but when you're a child, that kind of logic never really sinks in. It's black and white. You have a father, he hurt you, and then he left. When people love you, they don't hurt you and they don't leave. If he left, that means not only does he not want to stay, but he doesn't care that you want him to.

I don't know how to respond to people who tell me I need to get a boyfriend, get married, and settle down. I think if they could understand how much time I have wasted on one single, solitary man, they wouldn't think me so capable of what every other girl my age seems to be able to do. I don't want to fall in love. I don't want to fuck someone who can decide in a few years that I no longer mean anything to them. I don't want to be at the mercy of someone else and their romantic whims.

Right now, my father is depressed. He seems to have realized that some of the things he's done were wrong, that he's been blind. That is no comfort to me. Instead of facing reality and choosing to embrace what he did, he lets it consume him. Once again, it's all about him. I want to make him happy and if I knew how, I would. It's the one thing I can't seem to stop myself from doing: trying to make everyone happy.

God has blessed me beyond measure, and yet, when I look at this world, I can't help but feel alone with God, as if no one else knows who I am or cares. I know that no one else will know me and love me as much as God could. But sometimes, I think it would be nice if others could see a glimpse of the burden I carry and just acknowledge it. We could walk together maybe. That would be nice, I think.