I’m Not Ashamed Of Being Weak When It Comes To You

Allow me to be weak because it still stings. Allow me to embrace the weakness.

Allow me to wallow myself into this ridiculous sadness – letting the pain poke me once more. Allow me to acknowledge that not at all times I’d be the toughest woman there is, who can always say she’s over it, and that she’s stronger than ever – that none of what happened affects her anymore. Not that I need your permission to, but allow me to feel. Because even the toughest gets to their breaking point and even the strongest needs to know how it is to be weak.

It still stings whenever I come to realize how none of everything was true – it still stings that none of you was. It stings to know that as I was opening myself up – letting every bit of you invade every part of me, you had yourself permanently closed. Leaving me to what you chose to reveal, and none of them was you.

It still stings how you were so great at hurting people – people who have actually chosen to believe in you. People who were so busy loving, understanding, and defending you. It stings how you’ve seen these people to be your target and not your confidant, knowing exactly when to attack like a predator studying its prey’s every move. It stings how you’ve seen these people not as people you can trust, but as mere objects you can use for your own interest – who you can just drop, ditch and throw away once you have no use for them anymore.

It still stings how all the promises made turned to be just words. It stings how I was accused – over and over – of being incapable of keeping my words. It stings because it all turned out it was you who were all words. It stings that I was so into the idea of making myself better for you, as you were just there, quietly laughing at how pathetic of a person you have made me to be.

Allow me to be weak because it does sting, but please don’t get me wrong. It stings not because I’m still invested in you. It stings not because I’m still hopeful this is worth another shot. It stings not because I love you. It stings because I love myself. I love myself so much that I can’t begin to fathom how I managed to do all these to myself for someone who just clearly proved how all of these mean nothing. It stings because I allowed you to turn me into someone even I didn’t know anymore. It stings because I turned my back on a lot of people – even myself – just to choose you, only to find out you weren’t the right choice. Allow me to grieve, just one more time, on that very moment when I died a couple hundred times choosing you.