(no subject)

The Wee One (do you like that, didja? didja?)
came over for a visit today, as I am (alledgely)
on my death bed. Swoon. Mope. Swan about the
house looking pale and consumptive.

We had an interesting discussion, as we are
prone to doing when you get the two of us to
be serious for more than five seconds. The
conversation, due to our mutual problems,
involved love.

She asked me that if I ever found out in some
way that Darren had changed his mind and truly
wanted me in his life, as his heart, would I
go back to him? I pondered for a few seconds,
because this is something valid that I've
tortured myself with in past late night musings.

The answer being: no.

The reasons being: I lost myself in him. To such
a degree that it terrified me. My happiness rode
solely on his own. My sun rose and set on
whether or not he smiled. I debased myself for
him. I cowered and wheedled and begged. I
was not me. I became a doormat, a dish rag.
I poured every ounce of myself into him, knowing
I would get barely anything in return.

I don't want to be that person ever again. It
wasn't me, only a pale shadow of the person
that I am.

And I believe that's why I behave in the manner
that I do now. Why I hold myself back so much,
afraid to give in completely to any one person.
I don't want to lose myself again.

I catch myself doing it, every so often. Repeating
the same dance steps as before. I send little-
girl-voice emails to Orphan, sidling up for
his affections. I throw myself at Richard's feet,
in a bid for attention.

And in the same vein, sometimes even in the same
breath-I pull away. I hide. I cover my face and
become someone else.

I don't know where I'm trying to go with this,
really. I suppose I'm tired of being such a
fragmented person. Personality wise, I'm highly
independant. I want to make my own rules and
abide by no one else. Sexually and relationship
wise, I'm tremendously submissive. I want to
be taken care of. I want to be held down and
told, in no uncertain terms, what to do.

I'm such a mess.