Vulnerable
By Sherald Mae E. Sanchez
Everyday feels like torture. Not the physical kind; the one that inflicts pain on the outside. It’s the other kind; the one far more painful, agonizing, excruciating – the pain inside. Before you trespassed your way into my life, I would never have imagined being in this fragile state. I’ve always been the strong one; sturdy and assertive. I’ve never been one to exhibit such passionate emotions, especially in front of other people. I’ve always been a cheerful person, with all the smiles and waving. But damn it, no one, not even I, can say all these things about myself at this moment. Not when I’m in this pitiful, pathetic condition. I can’t believe I let you do this to me. I can’t believe I let anyone, for that matter, do this to me.
You’re hurting me like no one has ever done so before. You’ve damaged me in a way that gives me the feeling that I’m beyond repair; that the damage you’ve caused is irreversible. I’m torn, tattered, and very much distressed. What’s even worse, if something more severe than this is humanly possible, is that my feelings haven’t changed. If this level of devastation can’t change them, heaven only knows what else can. Yes, it’s going to take some time for me to forgive and forget but I’m certain that after the healing and recovery stage, I’d take you back. Whatever happens, I’d take you back. And yes, I can’t be with you right now. I shouldn’t talk to you, or even see you. But God only knows how I want to. I’d give anything to turn things back to how they were – easy, simple, the happiest I’ve ever had. I know I shouldn’t feel this way. For Pete’s sake, I should be lashing out at you as if there’d be no tomorrow. And believe me, I want to. But I don’t want to, at the same time.
Nothing is certain; everything is categorized under “maybe” and “what-if”. This is probably what’s hurting me most: the confusion. I’ve always prided myself with the ability to analyze situations and make wise decisions but now, I have neither. This is taking a toll on my self-esteem. If I can’t be happy with myself, how can I be with you? How can I be with anybody else? I think I’m more disappointed at myself than at you. Only I’m so proud I can’t possibly admit that out loud; this kind of pain is too much for me to handle that I need someone to put the blame on and the closest thing I get is you. It’s easier this way. In fact, I think I’ve forgiven you. From the very first time you said you were sorry, I already have. The one I haven’t forgiven yet is myself. For being so weak, so vulnerable and mostly, for feeling for someone the level of how I feel for you – unconditional, selfless, and in my opinion, much too much idiotic.
How can I be with you when I can’t even stand myself right now? How can I love you in the way I want to when I can’t even like myself? How can I face you when I can’t even look in the mirror? Tell me and I’ll do it. Because, hell, I miss you. More than you can possibly imagine; more than one person should; more than all of humanity put together could. I miss you so much it hurts.
