People blossom when they're loved well.

Did you know that?

I remember a few years ago.  When I was under the impression that I was wanted.  That someone picked me.  That I was loved.  I remember walking around feeling all the confidence in the world.  Why?  Because I was confident that someone loved me - and wanted me - for being me.

Maybe you can't relate.  Maybe you've been well loved your whole life.  Maybe you had people who let you know you were valued, that what you felt mattered, that your existence was welcome and desired.  If so, what a wonderful world in which to live.

But there are those of us (me) who did not feel that way growing up.  Those of us who struggle to feel wanted.  Who struggle with feeling like our existence isn't an inconvenience.  Those of us who don't feel loved for simply being ourselves, but have to behave and be good in order to earn love before it's given to us.

And then someone came along who I let see my whole self.  Every ugly nook and cranny.  My weirdness.  My dumb quirks.  My not knowing a lot of pop culture references.  My being dead on the inside.  My shutting down and feeling less than the usual nothing when depression got really bad.  My exploring the freedom in saying "no" to things I didn't want to do, learning to experience a sense of control, when I did not have the freedom to really express or experience that growing up.  Someone who, in spite of all of that, saw me and still wanted to be around me.  Still wanted to get to know me.  Still decided to choose me and love me for...well...me.

Until he didn't.

If the one person who vowed to love me, for better or worse, rich or poor, in health and in sickness, until death, decides that he doesn't want me anymore, what am I supposed to think?  How am I supposed to interpret that?
Because what it means is that this vow that we both made, this covenant before God and before witnesses, was not sincere.  It was not spoken truly nor with sincerity.  I doubt the words even registered, because they were simply repeated.  Who really pays attention when someone says "repeat after me?"

It tells me that the vow was not intentional.  It tells me that things got hard, and it was time to quit instead of buckle down to adjust and repair.  It tells me that I really am not worth loving me for being me.  I was not enough.  I was too much.  I was...I don't know.  Insufficient.

I was thinking today (unfortunately) as I ran some errands.  I realised that my whole life I have more or less defined myself by what I am trying to not be.  I am *not* going to be too much.  I am *not* going to be an inconvenience.  I am *not* going to be a burden.  Etc.

I have tried so hard to not be too much.  Because the majority of my life, I have felt like I actually am too much.  Too much to handle, too much to stick around for, too much to take the time to invest in.  If I worked really hard and made myself as small as possible, hardly noticeable, not needing too much attention, affection, time, whatever...maybe then someone would want me.  Maybe then someone wouldn't be too put off by me.  Maybe then I would be worth loving.

Turns out it doesn't matter how I am.  I don't know if it's possible to be too much and not enough simultaneously, but I certainly feel like I am.  Regardless, who I am, how I am, whoever "Aimee" actually is...is not enough.  Not worth it.  Not desired or wanted or valued or loved.

And knowing that...seeing that happen again and again in my life...what's the point?  What's the point of trying to be good, if it's never good enough?  What's the point in trying to be as little as an inconvenience as possible, if you are still an inconvenience?  What's the point of feeling things, feeling anything, if your feelings are not valid and no one cares about them?

It doesn't matter if people tell me that I'm a good person.  Being a "good" person doesn't mean shit.  It doesn't mean you win extra points.  It doesn't mean life is going to be easier for you.  It doesn't mean you'll be noticed above everybody else.  And it certainly doesn't mean that you are going to be wanted or loved for being "good."

The conclusion, then, is that there is no point.  There is no point in trying to be good.  There is no point in trying to not be an inconvenience.  There is no point in feeling things.  There is no point in allowing myself to love.

I am going to fix myself.  True, it's been too long of me living like this to change my tendencies of not being a burden, too much, etc.  But I am going to go back to the way I was.  Not feeling anything.  Not allowing myself to be vulnerable.  Not allowing myself to love.  My walls were a mile high before, but I am going to build them back up to 10 times that height.  No one will be able to get in.  No one will be able to break through.

Never again.

 I take the tomato and cut it in half.  Then I take each half, and cut it into wedges.  I lay them down on their sides, and sprinkle salt on them.  Opening the kitchen drawer that serves as a home for my utensils, I grab a fork, stab a wedge, and put it in my mouth.  The salt brings out the flavour of the tomato, and this small ritual reminds me.  Every time, it reminds me.  Of her.  Of the first person who meant something to me that I lost.

Even now, years later, and the grief stays with me.  What is it they started saying in the past few years?  "Grief is love with no place to go."  I think that's it.  It sounds right, anyway.  And it's true.  When it comes to someone who left because death took them, at least.

All these small rituals that compose my life.  Ones I've formed on my own.  Like always smelling a tea bag before I place it in the cup to steep.  Or taking my camera with me whenever I go hiking.  Or making food for people I love.
Or the rituals I have that I picked up from others.  Saying "hot hot hot" as I eat a certain brand of chip.  Moving my hands as I talk.  Giving really tight hugs.

And then, there's the rituals we formed together.
Checking out local coffee shops.  Driving around with no destination.  Pointing out every jeep on the road.  Countless others.

How can life be filled with so many rituals, so many reminders, of the people who have impacted me in some way, left behind trails of themselves, fingerprints on the canvas of my heart, and hurt so much because of it?

It's like everything results in loss.
People will always leave, sooner or later.  By choice or otherwise.

So tell me, what is the point?
What is the point of trying, of making an effort, of pouring my love into people that I cannot depend upon, people who say things but don't mean them, people who don't follow through, people who say they love me but fail to show it, people who will eventually leave because no matter how hard I try, how much I try to become who they seem to want me to be, how "good" I am, it is never, ever, ever enough.

You once told me that I was a romantic in the true sense; in the sense that eventually, everything ends in tragedy.
Will it be tragedy if I take my life into my own hands?  I couldn't stop you from leaving, I couldn't make you love me, or choose to keep your vows, but I can choose to keep mine.  Until death do we part...right?

I used to think love wasn't worth the risk of the pain, the heartache.  I forced myself not to feel for the majority of my life, because to feel was to be in pain.  Then you came along, and I decided you were worth the risk.  The risk of feeling, feeling everything and feeling it all deeply, the risk of loving, because I thought my heart was safe in your hands.

Never again.

I am not going to make the mistake ever again of feeling things.  Of deciding that love is worth it.  Of finally finding someone who was home, someone I could give all the love away that I had hidden inside of me for so long.

I am going to go back to the way I was.  Not feeling anything.  Hardly ever crying.  Not loving anyone or anything.  I know now my younger self was right; love is not worth it.

Nothing is worth it.
(Definitely not me.)

 I have been thinking for hours today about how I have never had one single person I could depend on in my life.
So it is very little wonder that I don't trust anybody, much less depend on anyone to be there for me (especially when I need it most).

Sure, I grew up raised by a mother and father, so in a sense I depended on them, but that was for more technical things, like clothing, shelter, food.  And most certainly as an infant I had no choice but to depend on them.  And growing up, being raised by them, I was their responsibility, so again, it was their duty and obligation to provide for me, and I was dependent upon them for the necessities.

However.

As far as someone being there to provide for the less obvious needs, like emotional and mental support?  Support when emotions were raging, support when I was confused by drama at school, support when my brain became my enemy?  No, I didn't have anyone for that.

And sure, maybe there have been small snippets of time where I had a person to depend on momentarily, but it wasn't for a long period of time, and it most certainly wasn't consistent.

And then someone came along that I gave my heart to, someone who made a vow to be by my side, for better or worse, until death. 
And did death come for either one of us?
No.
Instead that vow was broken, everything betrayed, trust completely shattered, and I was a fool for thinking I finally had someone who would be there for me whenever.

I am not going to make that mistake again.

What is so wrong with me that people...that someone...can't be there for me?
Why am I not worth keeping your word for?

I learned a long time ago that people talk a lot of shit, say a lot of nice things, but 99% of the time, people just do not follow through with what they talk about doing, or say they're going to do for/with me.
So now I listen to people when they tell me things.  Express "nice" ideas.  But I never, ever, ever believe anyone.  Not until they show me.  And even then, if they show me one time, fuck, even two times, I will still think it's a fluke.
Because it is.
It would have to be a steady consistency of someone following through and keeping their word before I actually believe what they tell me.
And I have never, ever, not in my whole life, found one single person to be consistent in what they say.

And how fucked up is that?
What is so goddamn hard about keeping your word?
About saying what you mean, and meaning what you say?
About watching what you say, not to give away your word so easily, that you continue to break it because you make promises you can't keep?

So sure, on one hand, it's a matter of every person who currently walks this planet being a flake and failing to follow through on things.
But on the other hand, is there really no one out there who exists who is steady and consistent and faithful in following through?

Regardless.

I have learned my lesson.
I cannot depend on anyone.
I never have been able to.

And I never will.