It’s a weird feeling to look back on your life and realise that there are multiple people who think you are a goddamn monster of a person. Who hate you so wholly and completely that the black void of their feelings covers up and good thing you have ever done or any person who thinks that you’re okay.
I can think of at least a handful of people that think I am a terrible person.
I spend my life trying to make other people happy, sometimes to the detriment of my health and sanity. Maybe I’m overcompensating for the feelings I have about myself and the lack of self esteem that makes me think I really am a garbage person. I try to live my life being a good person, helping other when I can. Sure, I slip up, everyone does.
Let’s start with my three ex’s. I doubt they ever think about me, but if they did, I know they would hate me. I know they would think I was the worst piece of shit who ever walked the earth. Love, sorry, ‘Love’, makes you do terrible things. It makes you believe so wholly in someone, that when they turn out to be human, when it turns out that yes, they would prefer the company of anyone else but you, that burns like having red hot pokers being shoved into your brain.
My first relationship screwed me up so badly that I turned into the worst version of myself that I will ever be. I think I needed that lesson. If I ever approached that version of myself again, I hope I would have the decency to either shun myself away from society or throw myself off a cliff. It taught me the only true way to deal with someone who doesn’t care about you is to walk away. Eventually, even though we still loved each other intensely, I had to be the one to walk away. I’ll admit that when I was in that relationship, I was young, immature, and didn’t show her the time that I should have. Did I deserve the emotional warfare that happened after that, where sex was used like a weapon to destroy me as a person? The jury is still out on that. It’s interesting to note (ie I just realised) that other than a relationship I made up to make her jealous and my only time visiting a prostitute, I never slept with or flirted with anyone else during the relationship, whereas by my count she slept with at least 20 different guys. Jesus, even at the worst period in my life I still had to be mostly monogamous. I really am a fucking pushover.
My second relationship, I was the one who wasn’t in love. So what did I do? Did I go around and sleep with anyone who showed me any attention, like the other women in my life have done? No, of course not. I had some goddamn decency and enough respect for this person that I broke up with her when I knew I wasn’t in love with her. No mind games, no long drawn out bullshit. I just sat her down and told her it wasn’t working out. It was terrible luck that she decided to tell me one of the biggest secrets about her life just before I broke up with her, but I stand by my decision. I couldn’t keep living the lie. I couldn’t offer her support with her thinking I was in love with her. Still, she hates me and I accept the blame for that.
The third relationship. Fuck, what do I say? I loved her, I did everything I could to support her and get her to open up to me, and in the end she didn’t want anything to do with me. I tried everything I could to get her to love me, to get her to open up emotionally. When she didn’t want to talk about sex, I stopped talking about it. When she didn’t want to talk about her day, I stopped talking about it. When she only wanted to communicate in gifs, I did it because it was the only form of communication we had. And then she cheated on me. Here’s the real lesson. I should have walked away in that very second. I should have fucked off and never returned. But I loved her. You might be saying “But she obviously didn’t love you,” and you would be 100% correct. But, blinded by love, I didn’t realise that. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I finally stood up and asked for the communication that had been lacking, fuck, the communication that any relationship needs. And I got it for a bit. But then the communication started to fade again. I tried to hold on, I tried to explain why communication was important. When it got to the point where all she would discuss was where in the country she was, what she was doing and who she was hanging out with – mind you, through gritted teeth – I would ask her about that, as some way to communicate with her. I found out later that she thought I was keeping tabs on her. I shouldn’t have bothered. Again she pulled away from me, in a moment when I thought she would want my support the most. And again, at the worst possible time, I had to rip myself away from the toxic relationship that was causing me stress. I put my heart and soul into the relationship and wasn’t getting anything back. Not only that, but my heart and soul was making her back away. She didn’t want my heart nor my soul. I wish I could have known if there was ever a chance that she could feel the way about me that I felt about her. Oh well, she doesn’t have to deal with the fat, ugly, sappy stupid dickhead anymore. So I guess she’s happy.
I wish I could ask them all what I did wrong. I wish I could find out how to make myself a better person. I wish I could find out
So that’s three. Two people I have loved with my entire being, and one that I didn’t love in that way and wish I could have returned to being friends with.
And then there’s the person at work. The one who, when I tried to help them and offer training and get them to answer the questions instead of being given the answers all the time. Well, they accused me of bullying. I dare you to find a single other person on this planet who would consider me a bully. I dare you to find a single bully who, when accused of being a bully, shuts down mentally and just sobs, who re-evaluates every interaction that they’ve had to see if they really are a bully. Who questions every action they make now in case it could be misconstrued. Am I saying that they didn’t feel bullied? Am I saying that their emotions don’t count? No, of course not. It’s all about perception. They perceived me as a bully, when I thought I was doing my best to help them. They’re entitled to how they felt. It doesn’t hurt any less though.
I wonder if any of them hate me enough that they wish I wasn’t around. I wonder if any of them hate me enough to wish I was dead. I wonder if any of them, offered with a button that would remove me from the face of the earth, would push it. I wonder how long they would hesitate. I can’t honestly say how long I would hesitate if given the same situation.
Look, there are actual monsters out there. There are people who kill, who use violence, who use psychological methods to control people. There are reprehensible people who don’t deserve to exist. You see them on the news, you see them acting like dickheads out on the street. There are people that force people into poverty just to gain a little extra money. There are people that force other into slavery, that rule countries with an iron fist.
Sure, I’m a broken mess of a person. I don’t think I’m a monster. But fuck, give it 20 minutes and I’ll probably change my mind again.