Do what you like. But while you’re doing that, will you love me?
I don’t want this to sound like I’m complaining, or bitching, because I’m not. I’m trying to say the things that are going through my head because living inside my head is scary, and not healthy, and makes me wonder if a trip to the shrink might be something beneficial.
But therapy scares me.
But not being loved scares me even more.
One of my biggest things, my biggest needs, is to mean something to someone. I want someone to care when I cry, when I’m upset, as well as when I’m happy and in the best mood ever. I want someone who is going to take my thoughts and feelings into consideration when thinking about their actions and before they make decision.
I want you to care about how I feel, and how words and actions, or lack thereof, affect me, and other people. Because whatever it is, or maybe it’s what I think it is because maybe it’s nothing and I’m overreacting, but there’s no communication to even let me know, so I will think what I am going to think. But whatever it is makes me feel worse than I’ve ever felt, ever. I feel like I’m not doing something, or I’m not being something or someone, or I’m just not enough.
If I got half the attention and love that I’m asking for, maybe we would be happy. And maybe the needs to be with anyone else, or to flirt or whatever it is, would not be there. But then again, maybe I’m not enough, and maybe no matter how much devotion I give, no matter how much time I spend, I just can’t provide everything you’re looking for. And if that’s the case, then let me know. Because I don’t know what else to do. Maybe I don’t engage in enough dirty talk, or I’m not sexual enough or I’m not adventurous enough. Which is funny because I always thought I was very into trying new things. But maybe I’m not into it ENOUGH.
But there are other guys out there that would appreciate me for me. There are several on various dating sites that find me attractive enough… and I’d say I get hit on pretty often. But I don’t care about any of those things or any of those men. Because I made my decision. I made my choice, and it was you.
But none of that seems to matter to you because YOU don’t see those things. Maybe you do see those things. Maybe you see that I’m attractive, and smart and whatever else… but you don’t act like it. You don’t treat me like it. And it makes me sad. And cry.
I hate that when I need to talk, you shut down and don’t talk like it’s some kind of revenge. We are not children. Just because I might not want to talk at one moment doesn’t mean you need to say “if you can do it, I can do it, so there. and because you did it to me, I’m going to do it to you.” Because no matter what I do, you have that same attitude. And it makes me sad that when I want to open up to you, when I need to open up to you, you shut down and don’t want to hear it because I couldn’t talk about it before. I want you to care. And maybe you don’t. But that really hurts.
I’m not good at communicating sometimes, and I’ve told you that over and over again. I have a hard time writing about the important things, which is why I’ll never amount to much as a blogger or a writer. I can’t deal with expressing that emotion to the world, so I might as well just back off and find something else I can be mediocre at.
I just want you to pay more attention to me than you do everyone else. I know you love me. You must. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. But maybe you would. Or maybe you’d be in Mexico. I just want you to appreciate me and not ignore me or shut me out when I need to open up. And I want to be the one and only.
But I’ll understand if I’m asking for too much.
But I don’t think I’m asking for too much. I’m just asking for you to love me. And I didn’t realize I was such a difficult person to love.
But I’m asking for you to love me, and only me. And act like it. Because if you don’t love me, or you can’t show it, or I’m not enough for you, you need to let me know.
So maybe I just spend 800 words rambling about nothing. And maybe it will mean something. But maybe it won’t. And if it doesn’t mean anything, I still said things that were bother me. Sure, I didn’t divulge everything, but I divulged enough to make this mean something to me.
So maybe, just maybe you’ll love me.
