On forgiving myself for loving and feeling too much

I blame myself time and time again for loving everyone God puts on my way in a selfless way. 

I blame myself when they take my heart, tear it apart and trample upon it.

I blame myself for not seeing through their malice, and for finding them excuses every time they mess up.

I blame myself for believing that anyone could love me the way I love them. Why should I give love when the love is never returned? 

The sad part is you would think that I would have learned my lesson by now, but no. I still don’t know hoe to stop people from abusing my kindness and forgiveness. I wasn’t taught how to do it; how to set boundaries for people. I grew up seeing mother and grandmother doing the same thing; constantly giving to ungrateful people and never asking for recognition. But no one ever told me how gut-wrenching it would feel to be that way. No one told me that I would be unable to sleep at night for having loved and trusted too much. No one told me I would have to write a blog soaked in tears to figure out where I went wrong.

Some days I just need my mother to run my life for me again and tell me what to eat, where to be, and what to do because I find myself unable to make those decisions for myself. I become a child again. Not to be confused. I get tired of making the same  mistakes over and over again, of being told that all I am experiencing is part of the process of growing up, or that non of my pain is my fault. I get tired….completely tired….Tired of living.

I want to live in a safe world where loving completely and wholeheartedly is not wrong. A world in which people respect each other enough to consider each other’s feelings and treat each other like the human being they are. A world in which people aren’t cheated on or led on for one single person’s selfish interest. A world that doesn’t exist…

I may not find such a world in this life but I will have to learn how to toughen up like everyone else. I will have to forgive myself for every time I was taken advantage of, tell myself over and over again that it happened, not because I was stupid and blind, but because I live in a cold world. I will have to press on in spite of the pain, pick up the pieces of my broken heart and wear it mended and imperfect. I will have to stop trying to live fully and survive. I will have to wipe my tears away myself and tie my tear ducts together. 

I will survive.

A life of survival still frightens me, but I will eventually run out of choices and be forced to become cold like the world I live in. That is what this life does to you. It turns you into an angry and bitter being, then blames you for it. Where will our salvation come from? Where will love come from? When will people know how to really love? 


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