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Love Isn’t Always Enough

For six years, I loved someone unconditionally. I was constantly waiting for things to be better between us. For things between us to click and that we felt the same way about each other. Even if that meant more than friends or only friends. I wanted him to be happy with me because I felt like he was the light at the end of the tunnel. The same person who saved my life was the one to break it.

I’m stronger now. I am tougher. I’m reading a journal of entries about us from the past six years. They’re all the same. Hoping that things will get better. A six-year rejection roller coaster.

He wasn’t my first. He wasn’t the first person I loved unconditionally and kept hoping for things to get better. In high school, I knew someone who made me love him. He could never love me the way I loved him but he spent months taking down my walls. He did it but by time he was close enough he was tired and heartbroken from the fighting.

That boy loved me when I didn’t love him or even loved myself. By the time I loved him in return, the damage was done, I was so obsessed with trying to make things right. I broke someone, I watch the utter heartbreak just destroy someone’s soul. Then when I was in college I met this other guy and for the past six years, I have been torturing myself for the sins of my youth. I clung onto this guy thinking I could make things work no matter what. I loved him first, I tried to get his walls to come down. I stayed even after all the heartache.

I will always love these two guys and be a part of who I am. I was the villain in one and the victim in another. Sometimes you have to let go of the people you love in order to be the better version of yourself.

I wanted my college friend to love me like my high school friend did. I stayed around six years punishing myself for something my insecure 15-year-old self did. I kept waiting for the friendship to be like that when it never was. I was waiting for something that was never going to happen.

I’m done punishing myself for not being perfect, for not being a certain way. I’m choosing to love myself. I’m choosing to be a better version of myself. I don’t have to be a saint or doctor or mother Theresa. I just want to be a version of myself my younger self would be happy with. I want to be the version of myself that I needed to be when it counted the most.

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