On being more present

I often get caught up with overthinking. I analyse and try to come up with every single possible outcome. I claim that it's the logical approach and that critical thinking is a great skill to have. But in all reality, I don't like to take risks and I'm often anxious and afraid. My natural predisposition is to oppose change and question everything I do. 

Recently, I've gotten really caught up in overthinking once again. As I'm telling Ro about it, he looks at me with a shocked expression, Woah, slow down, Jam. You've gone way ahead of yourself. And then I suddenly stopped, You're absolutely right. And then I remembered the quote from Alice in Wonderland, where Alice meets the Cheshire Cat and asks for directions. 

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where — " said Alice.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.
" — so long as I get somewhere," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough." 

 Ro smiles, You're still figuring out what you want. Do that. But in the meantime, slow down. Try live in the present. Taking a deep breath, I nod. Thank you for the reminder. I needed that.

Desperately believing a lie

I look at him and I don’t say anything. 

“What’s behind that cold mask of yours?” He pulls my chin closer with his index finger and leans in, whispering, “I want to know you, everything about you, all of you.” 

I’ve seen this in cheesy movies and my brain tells me it’s a cheap move. But I can not suppress this thrill I am feeling. This would be the moment my pupils dilate and my heart beat faster, as any old cliche would go. It was everything I wanted to hear. I fight the urge, I fight so hard. How could one line like that just tear down my walls? 

Against all will, all intention, I look up at him with wide, hungry eyes: I am air — cheap, free. Inhale me. All of me. 

And I began to fall. My walls dissipated. My deepest, darkest was let loose. It was hope. I allowed myself to feel hope…

But all that seemed like a forever ago. Now, I can’t even feel anything anymore. I want to laugh because it all sounds so ridiculously funny. Hope, what a silly word.

“I know you’re scared, but I won’t hurt you.”  

“You are so broken, let me in. Let me fix you.”

His words would not stop replaying in my mind. What I once drank in hungrily and greedily is now a blade on my skin. “I won’t hurt you.” Slice. Blood. Pain.

Why, why do I let this happen to myself over and over? 

I feel dirty. I feel used. I feel stupid, worthless, ugly. All the disgust I had for myself which I had naively and desperately wished he could take away came crashing back ten folds stronger. I had longingly desired him, like a whimpering dog waiting for someone to rescue. 

No, I didn’t desire him, I desired to be desired. The reflection in his eyes was not of me, but an illusion of everything I desperately wanted to be. An illusion of myself - pretty, loveable, desired. 

But that’s all that it was, an illusion. 

The cold bathroom tiles feel hard against my body. The pain radiates through my veins as I watch the thick blood drip. This, is real. This, is me — undeserving, unlovable, worthless, disgusting, dirty, nothing.