Hurt people hurt people.

I just read that in a book, at it really struck me. Hurt people hurt people. Four simple words that unlocked a whole slew of emotions, realizations, regrets… I, a hurt person, hurt people. And you wouldn’t know it either, I’m generally very nice and empathetic, but it’s true: when you hurt me, I’ll hurt you right back. I don’t always mean to, but when I feel vulnerable, I’ll spit fire. And I’ve been working on it over the past couple years, and I’ve trained myself to take a couple deep breaths before responding to inflammatory remarks (AKA my whole trip to Florida)….more or less. I mean, yeah, I’ll compose that profanity-strewn, mean-spirited text message right away, but I’ll usually delete it right after. I mean, I think the last time I serious was maliciously mean to someone over text was during the in between phase with my current boyfriend and I was doing something (question mark??) with my first boyfriend…..but then again, that whole time period of my life was a blur. #ThankYouAlcohol.

Needless to say, that sentence struck a chord within me. It was kinda like a bucket of ice water was thrown on me. Ouch. These past couple weeks, I’ve been really struggling with staying nice. People keep bringing up my past (Mom) or just venting about stuff that was great for them, but literal hell for me. It’s taken practically every ounce of my being to just stuff that hurt inside me and stay quiet. And then I’m laying there on my bed feeling guilty for being hurt. Uhhh, last I checked, that shouldn’t be happening. So, what do I do? I write extremely long texts, full of unnecessary meanness….and then deleted them. I guess that shows some self-control on my end, but why am I always the one biting my tongue? Why do I have to keep shoving hurt down inside me so that everyone else feels better?

People always ask me if I’m okay. I always say yes. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” is my go-to. But honestly, if you really want to know, I’m not okay. I’ve been dealing with some painful memories of relationships past. I’ve lost interest in my current living situation. I get in fights with my mother every. single. day. I’ve lost a shit-ton of confidence in myself, my body, my existence — okay, not really, but you get the jist. Point is, I’m hurt. And so, I’ve been hurting people. Maybe not to their faces, but definitely behind their backs, and definitely in my head. Because I feel a lack of control over my life at the moment, I turn to the one thing I can control — my thoughts. I know it’s wrong, but I long for that first relationship I had – the sneaking around, the passion, the rebellion… Hell, I even long for the heartbreak in that relationship. I long for the thrill of the chase, the heightened emotions, the desperation to be together, the promises made (and swiftly broken). I long for the nights spent on lifeguard towers, and in parking lots, fending off calls and texts from parents and concerned older siblings. There have been nights where I have cried myself to sleep thinking about what we had, and what I want. But that’s wrong, isn’t it? I’m in a relationship. I shouldn’t be longing for a different one.

But even then, despite all the longing for the past, I’m happy in my relationship. I’m secure, I’m loved, I’m wanted, needed, appreciated. I wouldn’t change it for the world. I love this guy, and I have for a long time. Why do I keep longing for something I know I really don’t want? I know it’s normal to have phases of missing what you’ve lost, and I’ve lost so damn much over the past year, I think it’s safe to say that this phase of missing is probably a result of misplaced emotions. Because I’m happy. I really am.

So, if you ask me if I’m okay, I’ll say yes. Because relatively speaking, I am okay. Compared to where I was three years ago, I’m okay. The scars on my wrist are healed. Outwardly, I’m okay. Inside, well, that’s a whole different story.