Why was I telling him?
I had met him merely thirty minutes ago. I had no reason to be telling him about my situation when I didn’t even know if I could trust him.
But I knew the rumors. I knew the lies. I needed him to hear it from me before I lost the chance at another friend. A friend that I so desperately wanted. Someone who didn’t sugar coat. Someone who didn’t withhold information because of the chance of it hurting someone. Someone who was real without fear.
So I told him.
But every time I tell the story it gets harder and harder. I don’t seem to be remembering it as well as I used to. It was only a month ago. But I barely remember anything that happened. I only remember how I felt.
Trapped. With no escape.
“Girl, why did you settle? You need to understand your league.”
Why did I settle?
Because that is what I was told to do.
Love isn’t real. You’ll never fall in love. You’ll just find someone you are fine with and learn to live with their flaws. “You have to settle, or you will never find anyone,” they told me.
I had friends here.
Or at least I thought I did.
”He’s a great guy.” “You really lucked out that he chose you.” “Your relationship is so beautiful. Don’t mess it up.” That’s what they told me.
”He’s a terrible boy and a player.” “You never should have been in that relationship.” “What were you thinking?” That’s what they told me after. Too late.
They didn’t care about me. If they did, they would have told me the truth when I needed it.
Instead, they chose him.
I was stuck. For six weeks I was stuck. Because I didn’t know what it was supposed to be like.
What does it mean to have someone choose you? Someone who wants to be with you? Someone who isn’t there just to use you?
How was I supposed to know when no one told me?
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I forced myself to steady my breathing and to slow down my speech as I continued to tell him what happened, from what I could remember. I was too scared to look up. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t scared of him. Maybe it was just embarrassment. Instead I chose to focus on my phone case.
“Ok so you were just insecure?” He said quickly with no hesitation.
I willed myself to look up at him, hoping to see the right dimple that continually showed up when he was teasing. But he wasn’t.
Was I insecure?
I thought I wasn’t.
I loved me. I loved the way God made me. From my awkward height to my permanently sunken eyes. My constantly low energy levels to my fear of falling. I loved the way I am.
I still do.
But I was insecure about the relationship.
He was right.
I loved myself but was insecure that no one would actually choose me.
Because no one ever has.
Every friendship is used. Every girl leaves me for someone else. Every boy leaves me for another girl. It’s all fake.
So yes.
I am insecure.
I was insecure.
I let the possibility of someone choosing me cloud my judgement and allow someone to use me.
To use me again.
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My hands shook as we walked away. My vision began to blur as I felt the lump in my throat that I had been pushing down for weeks.
We stepped out into the freezing cold. Everyone was shivering since none of us had brought jackets.
As they complained about the cold, I was thankful.
No one could see that I was shaking.
The lump in my throat became to big for me to breathe.
What he said was right.
And it’s what I needed to hear.
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No, I’m not insecure about myself. I love me. Every part of me.
But I still don’t entirely believe someone is able to love me the same way I do.
So yes, I am insecure.
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I heard someone say that you know you’re over a traumatic experience when you are able to tell the story without crying.
But as the tears fell down my cheeks as I walked back to my room, I knew that day wasn’t today.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
