Im not a girl

A Story by sammiesamssam

wondering thoughts.

I am not a real girl. I don’t do emotions. I’m not into all that mushy stuff. I don’t get girls like that. These are the things I tell myself and anyone that will listen. This is what I have trained myself to believe. I don’t hurt. I’m not lonely. I’m full of s**t. People always say I am lucky; my parents are not only married but madly in love! I’m not saying I am not lucky and I am not saying I have the saddest story. But it left me with expectations, with misconceptions. My dad drools over my mom. He looks at her like she is the center of his universe and NOTHING can pull him from her. Growing up I wanted just that, someone who thought I hung the moon. So I fell in love with the cute football player who told me I was pretty. I convinced myself it was true over and gave him everything I had; mind, body, and soul. At sixteen I expected this child to be responsible for all of my feelings and emotions. He failed; he cheated, lied, manipulated, and abused me until I was raw. I had nothing left to give. Just a limp piece of flesh on the ground. I pitied myself, I cried and blamed him. I took no responsibility for putting that amount of pressure on someone. For expecting him to be able to tell he that without a doubt he would love me for the rest of my life and then some. Then picked myself up and said screw boys, I don’t need them I am going to be on my own. I got hard and strong and fell right back into another’s boys arms. I played cool and uninterested. I made him believe we were casual and cool. The whole time the desperation in me screaming for attention. Then I was raped. Nothing crazy and dramatic, just simple roofie at a party. Quite cliché actually. He couldn’t handle the baggage so he walked away. Again I played hard and rough. I don’t need no man. Until someone else gave me attention three short dating sequences later all men were a*s holes and I was done. But then, tall dark and handsome he comes through the shadows. I throw my baggage on him to see if he runs. He staggers…but stays. I tell him don’t be too much, don’t smother me. He obliges resistintly. Somewhere down the line we stop touching completely. The romance replaced with stale compliancy and coexsistence. I blame him. Clearly he doesn’t love me. This is not on my timeline. I pull away and then snap…I am gone. I tell myself I am better off, he wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t love me. It would have never lasted. I am so mature look at me go. Suddenly I’m young and single and getting attention. I’m being sought after and pined for. Please come see how cool and boyish I am. See how cool and aloof, I never get crazy or mad. Those other girls whew their drama…not me. And then suddenly the bad boy swoops in, take this this, drink this let me corrupt you. I oblige, with no hesitance. I dive head first in whirlwind of booze, drugs, parties, and…baby mamma drama. I tell myself I am not the other woman I don’t even like him. Then its well yeah we have something but psh he says there not together. I hear the heartbreak in her voice and instead of reliving my own pain and stepping away I relish in the revenge even if only in the deepest parts of myself. He chooses her. I walk away battered and bruised. I feel sorry myself. Why am I so content to live a life so shut off and yet begging for someone to see me? I so badly just want someone to take me by the shoulders and say shut up and take my love. Instead of sitting moping around about so and so did me wrong and ugh why would he do this to me!?! Instead I am going to look in the mirror. I am a strong beautiful and smart person who deserves to be loved by myself before anything else. How can I expect someone else to love me if I don’t love me. These boys were not put in my life to drag me down and make me miserable. They were meant to challenge me. To show me my strength and my weakness. To find myself. To know my love language. To know me.`