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deardiarygirl · 2 years

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On Friendships and Codependency

For the first time in my life, someone very explicitly turned down my offer of friendship. I can't say I didn't see it coming, but I'm in awe of the fact that this girl was willing to actually address the fact that she didn't think we were a good friend match. I simultaneously feel sad and appreciative.

I've never been good at making and keeping quality friendships, and I think that can be attributed to a number of things. The biggest, I believe, is my very first best friend.

Way back in Kindergarten, I met a girl. I'll call her Kate. I don't remember how we bonded or how we decided we were best friends, I just knew that Kate was my pal and I was going to hang out with her whenever I had the chance at school.

Every day at recess, Kate and I played a game she invented. It was called Training. When we played Training, Kate would tell me to do things (run over there and back as fast as you can, go down that slide, push me on this swing), and when I did what she asked, she'd congratulate me on a job well done. It felt nice to get that positive attention from her, and the stuff she wanted me to do was basically just playing, so I thought it was fun and it was a good way to keep her happy.

Without realizing it, keeping Kate happy eventually became my whole focus. I felt I had no choice to keep playing Training because I didn't want her to get upset. That's how she wanted to play, so I should keep doing it so she wouldn't be sad.

We did this for literal years. I squashed all thoughts about how it wasn't fun anymore and I wanted to play my own way. I just quietly did what Kate asked because I didn't feel like I had a choice. Kate never threatened me or told me I didn't have a choice, but that's what it felt like.

One day I finally broke down and told my mom about what was happening. I was so scared to tell Kate I didn't want to play Training anymore. My mom reassured me and convinced me that it was important to speak up for myself. So I mustered up some courage and a few days later, I finally asked Kate if we could do something else.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, you don't want to do Training anymore?"

I shook my head.

Kate shrugged. "Okay."

What? That was too easy. I asked her, "You're not upset?"

"No, I thought this day would come." Kate responded nonchalantly. "I knew you would want to stop eventually. That's why I always asked if you wanted to do Training. You could have said no anytime."

At the time, I mostly felt relieved that it was over. I was glad I said something, and we found other ways to play.

Now when I look back at it, I'm bothered by her response. She literally groomed me to want to please her, training me like her dog, and then expected me to feel comfortable saying "no" whenever I wanted. Neither of us really understood that dynamic as kids, but now that I realize how messed up it all was, I'm disappointed that I didn't try to change things sooner. And I'm disappointed that Kate ever thought it was okay to play like that. But she was a kid and probably didn't know any better.

What sucks, though, is that this experience with Kate really shaped my codependent nature. For years, she reinforced that it was my job to make the other person happy, to do whatever they ask, to please them. To not speak up for myself or form my own opinions. When I meet someone new, it's not about whether I actually like who they are - it's entirely about whether I find it draining to please them.

I remember back when I was in high school, I used to pride myself on being a mirror. Whomever I was with, I would see their personality and reflect it back to them. I would act in ways I thought they would like. I moulded my interests to fit in with theirs. If they were sassy, I would give them sarcastic jokes. If they were serious and mature, I'd be well behaved.

I thought I was versatile. I thought I was special and I could get along with anybody. But really, I had zero sense of who I truly was. And even now, years after I discovered this about myself, I still don't really know who I am. I'm trying to figure it out.

So it's hard for me to make friends. I don't know how to be myself when I meet someone. I have a hard time stopping myself from falling into the comfort of reflecting the other person. I need to remind myself that even though it feels easier to interact with people that way, it's damaging and draining and it prevents me from actually getting close to people.

The girl I mentioned at the beginning of this post... she's amazing. She knows what she wants and needs when it comes to her friendships, and she's not afraid to be clear when a friendship isn't working for her. I want to be like that. I want to know what I'm looking for and feel confident enough to speak up about it.

#dear diary #diary #diary entry #journal #journaling #my diary #online diary #personal #personal diary #friends #friendship #codependency #codependent #people pleasing

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deardiarygirl · 2 years

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Family Secrets

TW: sexual assault

A few weeks ago, I learned a family secret. I hadn't had any suspicions and I never would have guessed it on my own. Now I'm the only one of my siblings who knows what happened, and that might always be the case.

I visited my mom at the beginning of the month. It was her birthday weekend and I hadn't seen her in over six months. I really felt the need to visit because my mom did not take the news of my sterilization surgery well, and I just knew that I needed to see her.

While I was visiting, I opened up to her about what I've been working through in therapy. I left out a lot of details because it didn't seem relevant. The biggest thing I wanted to get through to her was that even though some of the messaging I got from her had shaped my life in a negative way (i.e. sex is bad), I wasn't going to blame her for it. She always had my best intentions at heart and she was doing the best she could. I wanted her to know that I recognized that, and that she was allowed to make mistakes because she's human.

All of this led to a really wonderful conversation about the benefits of therapy. She's never been to a therapist, and if her health insurance weren't utter shit she would probably seek one out. But she told me about how she's become closer to her sister in the last few months because her sister has been going to a therapist to work through a trauma that the two of them shared.

As mom drove me to the airport at the end of our long weekend, she told me about her trauma. And it changed everything.

This is what I knew about my mom's family: She's one of seven kids. Three of her siblings died at a young age because of a genetic disease. The remaining four were my uncle, my mom, and their two sisters. Mom was the second-youngest out of all seven, but she's the youngest out of the living kids.

The sister she mentioned that is going through therapy is the aunt I'm closest to. Other than her, I didn't really spend much time with my mom's siblings as I grew up. I always assumed that they lived too far for us to visit, or that my mom just wasn't really close with her siblings.

My uncle died when I was in high school. He was a smoker and an alcoholic, and he was sick with a number of different cancers. Even though I didn't really know him, I was still sad because that was the first family death in my life that I was old enough to comprehend.

It felt especially sad because he had recently found religion. I thought it was really cool that he was this rough-and-tumble biker guy who started a church with his other biker friends. To me, he was breaking stereotypes by showing that bikers can really be good people. (To be clear, now that I've grown out of my sheltered life, I know that bikers aren't bad people. And I also know that religion doesn't automatically make you a good person.)

And so, the secret: My uncle, who was nine years older than my mom, sexually assaulted my mom on multiple occasions. The assaults happened from the time she was very young until she was a teenager.

My aunt was also assaulted. And maybe my other aunt was, too. When asked about it, she apparently denied it or said she couldn't remember - but if my uncle HAD tried to do something, "it didn't happen because I said no." (Which, for the record, is an absolutely shitty thing to say to your sisters when they're both speaking up about their own assaults.)

My uncle went on to get married and have two daughters. One of them remembers being assaulted, both physically and sexually. The other daughter doesn't remember.

Those daughters grew up to have their own daughters who are both around my age. Nobody knows if those girls were ever assaulted before my uncle passed.

Obviously, this information came as a huge shock to me. I had no idea that anything like that had happened in my own family. I had no idea that my mom had ever experienced anything so awful. I felt stunned. And I felt so deeply sad for the women in my family who were hurt by him.

And I felt guilty, maybe a little ashamed, for feeling sad about his death "because he was such a good, religious man". Sad enough to tell my English teacher I needed an extension on my project because my uncle had died and I just couldn't focus on my work. How could I have felt that sadness when I had no relationship with him, and he had such an abusive relationship with my mom? I'm trying not to hold that against myself, because obviously my reaction to his death was rooted in the information I knew about him at that time.

And most interestingly, I felt a little lighter. I felt a sense of understanding. My mom didn't try to teach me that sex was bad, she was trying to protect me from exposing myself to sex at a young age. She was trying to protect me from being around boys who could take advantage of me. She was protecting me the way someone should have protected her.

For so long I've worked to detach myself from my sexuality. If anyone besides my partner knew I was a sexual being, I feared they would think less of me. They'd see me as dirty, as a bad person. Sex was such a taboo thing that I couldn't even talk to my friends about it. That has all been incredibly damaging for me and I'm working on it.

But now that I understand where my mom was coming from, I feel like I have permission to let some of that go. Like I can reshape those messages she unintentionally ingrained in me.

In a way, it felt weirdly similar to the way I felt after getting my ADHD diagnosis last year. I grew up feeling bad about myself because I was constantly told that I could really excel if I just tried a little harder, so I saw myself as being lazy. But I wasn't lazy - I just had difficulty focusing enough apply myself the way the adults all wanted me to. Once I got that diagnosis, I could be a little more gentle with myself.

My mom doesn't think sex is bad. She does not think less of me for being in a sexual relationship. Now I feel like I'm allowed to embrace that part of myself instead of constantly feeling ashamed.

Of course that attitude change isn't going to happen overnight. I expect it will sometimes still be difficult for me to work through. But I do believe having this information will help me along the way.

I'm so thankful that my mom told me all of this. It's information that I really needed to know, and I think we both feel closer to each other now that the secret is out.

#dear diary #tumblr diary #my diary #diary #journal #journal entry #journaling #personal #personal diary #personal post #diary entry #online diary

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deardiarygirl · 2 years

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One of the biggest reasons why I wanted to start this diary is because I was desperate to share my story about getting sterilized. I've been trying to figure out the best way to approach this post, but there is no best way.

This past December, I had a bilateral salpingectomy. I had a section from each fallopian tube removed, which permanently prevents pregnancy. I still ovulate, I still have a period, but my eggs will never reach my uterus.

The surgery was completely elective. I wanted to have it done, but it was not medically necessary. Really, I do believe it was a necessary procedure for my sex life and my mental health. It's just not recognized that way by the medical field.

It's been about a month and a half since the procedure. I'm fully healed and recovery was surprisingly easy. I was swollen for a few weeks, but able to walk and move about pretty easily after the first couple of days.

I think I'll probably cover this topic over multiple posts. I don't have the energy to put it all together right now. If anyone out there has questions, please ask. Otherwise, I'll just get it all out there eventually.

#diary #dear diary #my diary #online diary #personal diary #personal #diary entry #journal #my journal #journaling #sterilization #bilateral salpingectomy

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deardiarygirl · 2 years

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TRIGGER WARNING: depression, suicidal thoughts

Sometimes I have really bad days, and today is one of them.

I'm not sure what triggered it. It might be the stress I'm feeling at work this week, or it could be the hormones from my period. Probably both of those things, actually.

I was driving home from work and a simple thought popped into my head: "If I just stopped existing then I wouldn't have to keep trying so hard to live."

Immediately, I dismissed the thought. I didn't mean that. I don't WANT to die. But if I did... I mean, I wouldn't be around to care.

Once that thought comes to me, it stays close by. Doesn't matter how hard I try to push it aside.

I'm not going to hurt myself. I'm not going to take my life. I have no plans to do that, and I'm confident that's not going to change. But it's like I've been sliding down a hill into the depths of my depression ever since that thought happened.

Tonight has been fine. I ate good food, chatted with friends, and spent some quality time with my dogs. But I just feel terrible and so alone.

I'm sure I could ask my partner to be there for me right now, but he's playing games with his friends and I don't want to be "that girlfriend."

I cant turn to the person I've called my best friend because I've come to realize we were never that close to begin with. She's incredibly self-centered and I'm a certified people-pleaser, so I've always just catered to her without getting any kind of support in return. She doesn't know how to comfort me, or anyone else really. If I confided in her I know she'd just feel uncomfortable.

I surround myself with people who aren't in touch with their emotions, people who are not safe spaces for MY emotions. I don't want to talk to anyone. I want to cancel my plans for tomorrow night because spending time around anyone is so draining. I want to cancel date night on Thursday for the same reason. I want to take a month off of work and sleep and knit and cry and watch movies and figure out who the hell i am and what I'm doing.

Maybe I'll feel better in the morning. Who knows. I'll feel better eventually so I'll just hang out until that happens.

#diary #my diary #dear diary #tumblr diary #personal diary #personal #my journal

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deardiarygirl · 2 years

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I showered today, for the first time since I decided to commit to not picking two days ago. And oh my God, that was surprisingly one of the most difficult things I've had to do in a long time.

Every time I ran my hands over my skin, I had to audibly tell myself NO. My nails would instinctively try to dig in every time I felt a bump. It was like trying to stop myself from scratching an itchy bug bite.

I made it through, but I don't feel great about the success. I think I actually feel bummed that it was so difficult for me to resist. This is even more of a compulsive problem than I expected. Now I'm just trying to reassure myself that it'll get easier with time.

Maybe I'm just swept up in the "new year new me" vibes that come around this time of year, but I've finally decided that it's time to reel in my impulsive spending and motivate myself to do things I actually want to do.

I'm constantly fighting the compulsion to pick at my skin. My entire back and shoulders are covered in acne scars and pimples because I can't leave my skin alone. Even when I realize I'm literally pulling scabs off and peeling bits of skin away, I feel unable to stop myself. This has led to a host of issues, both with my appearance and my mental health. My skin is awful and I feel ashamed to wear anything that might show my scarring.

Simultaneously, I've been wanting to get my lip pierced. Or maybe get some more piercings in my ears. So I'm setting the hard and fast condition for myself that if I can go the whole month without picking (or if I can immediately make myself stop the second I realize I'm doing it unintentionally), then I'll let myself get another piercing.

Honestly I'm really excited. I think this is going to be the motivation I need. I've already caught & controlled myself multiple times today, and that is huge!

I can do this 🤗

#motivation #diary entry #diary #online diary #personal #journal #personal diary #journal entry #journaling #my journal #my diary

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deardiarygirl · 2 years

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You mentioned you go to therapy, could you, as a stranger, tell more about your discoveries and thoughts about it. I too, will start therapy very soon and I actually don’t know how to feel about it. I quite like your way of telling your feelings and I relate to many parts.

Hello! Yes, I do go to therapy, and I highly recommend that everyone try it out! I'm glad for you that you're taking that step 🤗

I guess some of my general thoughts about my experience with therapy are:

It's helpful, if not crucial, to have a goal. Try to get as specific as possible about why you want therapy and what you hope to gain from it. My first year in therapy was pretty aimless - I just felt like shit and wanted someone to help me feel better, but I didn't have much direction. I started seeing a new therapist this past fall and very clearly stated that I want to talk through the hardest parts of my sexual history to help me heal, understand my negative associations with sex, and shape a new outlook on my life as a sexual being. Now my therapist and I have a plan for moving forward and I really feel like I'm getting the most out of my therapy!

Therapy sessions can look different for everyone. For me, I mostly need validation of my emotions/experiences and a gentle guidance into self-acceptance. My partner, however, is very straightforward, so his sessions are mostly just him asking his therapist for tips on anger management and completing projects and stuff like that. And his therapist helps with straightforward steps. It's good to know what type of communication will work best between you and your therapist.

Honesty is so important! I frequently filter myself when I'm sharing personal things with other people, and I had to treat my therapy sessions very differently. Therapists are not mind readers, and they can only give as much help as you're willing to receive. So get vulnerable and be open, even when it's uncomfortable.

As far as some personal discoveries I've made in my therapy journey, you'll find out more about those in future posts! It's way too much for me to write out here lol.

Personally I just spend a lot of time thinking about my past and trying to connect the dots. It'll start with a simple question, like, "I know I feel ashamed of myself when I feel sexual desire. What negative experiences have I had that might have caused that feeling?" And then I'll make a physical list of events in my life that I think might be connected. Then I'll dive into each of those events a little more thoroughly to figure out why I acted the way I did at the time of the event, why the other people involved might have acted the way they did (and that's just speculation because I'll never truly know their intentions unless they tell me), and other details. Just think really critically about how every moment made me feel.

That kind of work is a very slow process. It's definitely not something I could tackle all in one sitting, and I'm not even close to the end. But it's all worth looking at and working through because it's helping me to understand myself.

I support you in your journey to work on yourself! It might not mean much, but I am here, as a stranger on the internet, to give advice or listen to anything you might want to share. I do think it's cathartic just to be heard. That's why I started this blog, after all. 🤗

#d-ana28 #asked & answered #therapy

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deardiarygirl · 2 years

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Honestly I'm really excited. I think this is going to be the motivation I need. I've already caught & controlled myself multiple times today, and that is huge!

I can do this 🤗

#motivation #diary #diary entry #online diary #personal #personal diary #journal #journaling #journal entry #my diary #my journal

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deardiarygirl · 2 years

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I mean, seriously. Found it three times in the last two days lol I desperately need to rewire my associations with this number.

The most cursed time of day to pick up my Starbucks:

Possibly the lot number on my new vaseline:

And it even made a special appearance while I rewatched the first Avengers movie this afternoon:

1123

1123. I see that number everywhere. It's on clocks, credit cards, checks, videos, you name it. And every time I see it, I feel a surge of anger and disgust.

If I had to guess, I'd say it's been about two years or so since I officially cut him out of my life. I blocked his number, blocked him on every social media platform I could find him on. He couldn't learn to leave me alone on his own, so I had to put up a firm boundary for the first time in my life.

When I met him over a decade ago, I had no idea what kind of impact he'd have on my life. I was just barely 15, boy-crazy, and completely driven to follow the dopamine rush I got whenever I talked to him. A hopeless romantic, I let his cryptic messages trick me into believing that I had found something really special. In a way I guess I had found something special - just not in a good way.

He told me: "I'll ask you to be my girlfriend tomorrow, depending on whether it rains."

Would he ask me if it rained? If it didn't rain? What the hell was that supposed to mean? I didn't know, but it thrilled me.

It didn't rain. He asked me to be his girlfriend. He kissed me, briefly - we didn't want to get caught by our parents. And then I never saw him again after that night.

When I agreed to be his girlfriend, I knew he lived halfway across the country. It would only ever be a long-distance relationship. And I knew I wasn't allowed to date, so it would be difficult to maintain. But when you're a horny high schooler, high on hormones, you find a way.

We sneakily called each other late at night. Mind you - this was back in the day when I could send only a limited number of text messages each month, and calls after 9pm were free. There was no snapchat, no picture messaging, no videos. Just phone calls.

It was wonderful. I lived for those phone calls. He intrigued me, kept me on my toes. I felt lucky to have connected with him in such a special way. I would do anything for this guy.

TRIGGER WARNING! Sexual coercion, suicidal ideation & threats

He liked teasing me, getting me flustered. I didn't consider myself to be inexperienced - not after my first boyfriend, anyway - but in retrospect I was very inexperienced. But what I lacked in experience, I made up for with my desire to please.

One night over the phone, he told me about how he was touching himself. He told me what he would do if we were in the same room. It excited me. But then he asked me if I was touching myself, too.

I wasn't. I didn't feel comfortable with my body. I hadn't really masturbated at all at that point in my life. But I couldn't let him know that - so I said I was touching myself.

He asked me how it felt - I told him it felt so good.

He asked me if I liked it - yes of course, I just wish it were you instead.

And then he asked how many fingers I had inside, and that one threw me for a loop. The correct answer was zero, but I had already dug myself into a hole with my previous lies. So... what would a sexually experienced person say?

All of them, I told him. That seemed reasonable to me, and that way he'd know I was really enjoying it. The more fingers the better, I thought.

He wasn't as inexperienced as I was, and he immediately knew I was lying. And he got mad. He couldn't believe I was being dishonest with him.

I apologized. I didn't tell him I was uncomfortable. I didn't tell him that I didn't want to do that. I continued being dishonest, but this time it was about my true feelings. I kept that shit hidden, protected. As if that would do me any good.

I'm pretty sure we resolved the issue at some point, but I don't remember how that conversation went.

As the summer dragged on and we continued our late night calls, I got a better picture of who he was, of the mental demons he fought every day.

He told me he was schizophrenic, depressed. That triggered the caretaker response in me. I told him it was okay, I was there for him if he needed anything. Absolutely anything, he was my whole world. The most important thing to me. I loved him.

To clarify - what I felt then was not what I now know love to be. But at that point in my life, that's what it felt like. I thought I loved him. In truth, I was obsessed, addicted. I didn't love myself, and I didn't love him.

One night he called me, and for the first time I could genuinely feel the distance between us. He sounded detached, emotionless. He told me he didn't want to live anymore. No one loved him, he just wanted to kill himself and be done with it.

No, I love you! Please, you can't! I love you!

He rejected me, told me that I didn't love him. He told me that no one could love him because he was a monster, a worthless piece of nothing. How could he possibly be loved by anyone?

No matter how hard I sobbed, no matter how desperately I tried to convince him of his worth on this world, he wouldn't hear it. He told me I was lying. He hung up, and I cried all night. He didn't pick up any of my calls after that.

Sometime the next day, he finally texted me. He was fine, he didn't attempt to take his life.

I had never felt so helpless. Even now, twelve years later, that night stands out as one of the worst of my life. I was so scared. I felt like it was my responsibility to keep him alive, and no one should ever feel that way.

It was not my job to fix him. It was not my job to make him feel better. If he had hurt himself in any way that night, it would not have been my fault. But I know I would have held onto that guilt for the rest of my life, thinking that if I had just tried harder to make him feel loved, maybe he would have been okay.

That's something I'm still struggling to learn in my relationships today. It's not my job to take care of anyone except myself. I should support the people I love, but I should not take on the responsibility of improving someone else's life to convince them to keep living.

We had a handful of nights like that, where I desperately pleaded with him to stay alive, promised him that I would get my license as soon as I was old enough and I'd drive across state lines for him. I could make his life worth living if only he'd hold on until I could get there.

On those nights, he never believed me. And it crushed me. Over and over again, I feared I would lose him.

Finally, the summer came to a close, and we mutually agreed to take a break. The new school year was starting, and we were both excited to meet new people and foster in-person relationships. There was a boy in the marching band that I had my eye on, so I wasn't bothered by this break-up.

A few months later, I broke up with the boy in the marching band. My long-distance lover wanted my attention again, and I had missed the thrill of it.

So we got back together. The late night calls resumed. I didn't tell any of my friends about the relationship, because I didn't want my marching band ex to know I had left him for someone else. As is typical of my codependent nature, I wanted to protect his feelings. I wanted to try to control his reaction to our breakup. But that's a bigger topic for another day.

This second wave of our relationship was somewhat short-lived. I think it lasted for a month or so before he confessed that he cheated on me. He had sex with his ex-girlfriend. I hadn't suspected it, and I was sad about it. But the worst part is that I told him it was okay. I told him I still loved him, and I forgave him. I just didn't want him to leave me.

It was NOT okay. I never should have begged for him to stay with me after he broke our promise of loyalty. But he had trained me to tell him everything was okay, and I think part of me was afraid that he would get upset and try to hurt himself if I told him I was mad about him cheating.

So I didn't even let myself feel mad. I felt compassionate, forgiving, and most of all, scared.

And of course, I should have expected his response. He didn't listen to my begging and pleading, and decided that he wanted to break up. I couldn't convince him that our relationship was worth keeping.

I was heartbroken. I couldn't let him go for months after that. He wouldn't respond to my texts. I didn't have any social media accounts, so I couldn't contact him that way. So I did the only thing I could think to do to get in touch with him: I printed out a photo of us from the day we met, and I mailed it to him. No letter, no words. Just the two of us, together.

He called me as soon as he got the photo. And we got back together.

It felt good for a while. We were doing just fine. We talked about him cheating, and he apologized for it. He said that he mostly just wanted to have sex, but he ended up missing me after we broke up. But he hadn't reached out to me because he was worried I would never forgive him for what he'd done - and I told him, silly, I forgave you the second you told me about it. Don't you remember? You can always be honest with me, I'll forgive you no matter what because I love you that much.

It was nice to have that resolution, and to put myself on the pedestal of The All-Forgiving, Holier-Than-Thou Girlfriend. It was a power I would never wield explicitly, but in the back of my mind I knew I could always remind him how wonderful of a girlfriend I was, how he'd never find someone else like me, how I was simply irreplaceable. And I think he knew it, too.

I think I leaned into it a little too heavily, though. I thought I could be a "good example" and motivate him to improve himself, too. He didn't really care about school, didn't really have any goals for life after graduation. I thought he could do better.

I told him something I overheard his brother saying. His brother had mentioned that he was worried about him not doing anything with his life, worried that he wouldn't amount to anything if he didn't apply himself. I shared that conversation, thinking he would feel motivated to do better for his brothers' sake, since I wasn't sure he would try to do better for my sake.

I was so, so wrong.

That infuriated him. I shared it with him with good intentions, but all I got in response was: Don't ever talk to me again.

He never responded to another text after that. And that subconsciously taught me that anytime I share critical/constructive feedback with someone, they will immediately shut me down and hate me forever. Again, that's another topic for another day.

Somehow, I got over it. I dated other people, and a few years passed. I graduated high school and prepared to move out to college.

Coincidentally, my college campus ended up being just a few hours away from his hometown. I didn't move there with him in mind, but after I settled in, I started thinking about how crazy it would be if he were to come visit me, now that I'm a Grown Adult (translation: freshly 18 with an inflated sense of confidence) with the freedom to hook up with whomever I wished.

I found him on Facebook. I sent him a message. I don't remember what it said, but I'm sure it was some sort of apology for upsetting him, and I probably explained why I did what I did.

He responded. The gates opened. The addiction began again.

One night, after my roommate had gone to bed, I sat on the couch and chatted with him over Facebook. He said he wanted to see me, and so we moved to Skype.

For the first time in probably four years, I saw him in front of me. He was just as hot as I remembered, even more so now that his hair was a little longer and he looked a little older. His smile was charming, utterly disarming. He was a natural flirt, and honestly, so was I.

We got naked for each other that night. This time I was willing, although my new streak of faking orgasms over the last few years continued. Another topic for another day.

We never officially got back together. Instead, we just periodically called each other up for a little fun. Every conversation was sexual in nature, and I loved it. I dreamt of the day I'd convince him to come visit me at school so that I could actually experience him in the flesh. He never did visit, though.

Our sexting carried over into my first college relationship. Eventually I told him it had to stop, because I needed to be more faithful to my current partner. He'd still occasionally send me flirtatious texts, and I'd usually roll my eyes and tell him to quit being such a tease. Then it died out altogether when he started seeing someone - if I remember correctly, it was the ex he originally cheated on me with.

Whatever, I didn't care. I was dating someone else, anyway.

The true problem came a year or so later, when he was single. He told me once more how much he missed me, how she could never be like me. He loved me, and he'd never love anyone the way he loved me.

But I was dating someone new. And this new person was truly someone special, someone that I'm still with today, eight years later.

I told him that although I cared about him, I was with someone else. And I really, deeply cared about this person. I really wanted to make sure it worked out with them. He said he understood, that he was happy for me.

And then he continued to text under the guise of friendship. It always started as a casual conversation, but inevitably it would turn flirtatious. It would turn sexual. And a few times, I indulged.

I'd tell him it needed to stop, that if we were going to be friends, we'd truly have to just be friends. I couldn't handle the guilt of caving when he tempted me, and I knew I had to do better.

The cycle continued for years. He told me he understood, that he was sorry, that he'd stop making it sexual. We'd stop talking for a few months. Then he'd text me again, real casual. And the more I responded, the more flirtatious and sexual the conversation would get. I'd tell him to stop, he'd apologize, and leave me alone for a few more months.

No matter how many times I asked him to stop, no matter how many times I told him no, he wouldn't truly listen. He wouldn't respect my wants or my relationship. He wouldn't stop.

Finally, two years ago, I cracked. I told him I was done trying to be friends because he clearly couldn't handle it. I blocked him everywhere to prevent him from contacting me in any way. It's the only way I could get peace.

It worked, for the most part. He sometimes finds ways to contact me, regardless. Apparently, even though his phone number is blocked, he can still leave me voicemails. He did that once, and I screamed and sobbed when I heard it. But I didn't respond. And then he sent an email to an old account of mine a few months after that, and I didn't respond to that, either. But every time he intrudes on my life, I'm reminded that I have zero power over him, that what I want is meaningless to him.

It's only - always - about him.

11/23. His birthday. I see it everywhere, and I'm always struck with that feeling of being powerless and small. I literally closed a credit card account because the last four digits of my card were 1123, and I couldn't stand to see that series of numbers whenever I made an online purchase. It makes me sick and it keeps him present in my life, no matter how hard I try to keep him out.

I absolutely hate it. I hate him. I hate that number. I hate the way he makes me feel. I hate that I will never be able to get true closure because I cannot trust him to actually grow up enough to acknowledge what he's done to me.

And most of all, I hate that I let myself unknowingly fall into his trap.

The only thing I regret in my life is letting him in. But I was in a vulnerable place when I met him - I didn't have any self-worth, and I desperately needed to feel like someone cared about me. I needed to feel valuable. He gave that to me.

I'm trying really hard to forgive myself for that. I didn't know any better. I was just trying to feel important. I can't blame myself for latching on when someone was willing to make me feel that way. I was trying to meet my needs however I could, without thinking critically about whether my methods were healthy.

So to the version of me that was entranced by him twelve years ago: it's okay. You didn't know what would happen. You were doing your best. And I love you.

To the version of me who became addicted to him: it's okay. You didn't know what healthy relationships looked like, so you had to learn the hard way. Although your relationship was damaging, you didn't know. You were doing your best. And I love you.

To the version of me who finally cut him out: I know that was hard, even though it felt like it should have been the easiest thing in the world. It's okay. I'm proud of you for standing up for yourself, even though you felt conflicted about it. I love you.

And to me, today: You have worth. You have value. You are important. Although he has trouble abiding by your boundaries, that's on him. He has a lot of growing to do, and that has nothing to do with you. You are strong for setting boundaries and taking care of yourself. And I'm proud of you for looking back on these years and thinking critically about why you did the things you did. It's hard, but you're growing. You're learning about yourself and you're improving. That's amazing.

Now our story is in words. I can free it from my mind. I can release the anger and pain I've felt for all these years. I know it won't be a permanent fix and I will inevitably experience these feelings again, but at least for now, I can rest.

#diary #online diary #journal #my diary #my journal #diary entry #journal entry

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