Tears of the Lost Self-Esteem

Read at your own mental health risk.

I've read how many people are coming out with their mental issues and struggles in life; my experiences would pale in comparison to theirs - I've hardly been through anything when viewed in comparison to what some of you have. But I know people who have, and this innate ability of mine to understand people's feelings (call it being an Aquarius, or call it being human) made me understand what they went through.

In 2015 I had a lot of therapy sessions due to my antisocial, depressive tendencies.

Sometimes it would be in a group, and I'd listen to others' feelings and thoughts. I have compiled both mine and theirs in this writeup, but I'll be using the first-person point of view throughout, so it will sound like one person's story.

In the end, it hurt that you'd see me this way - as nothing but an accessory to achieve a goal.

That I was nothing but a means to reach your desired end. I kept feeling that we had an emotional connection, that IO had someone I could bare my heart out to and show all my shades without filters.

But I was alone, as I'd always been.

I tried to overlook your shortcomings, ignore your excesses, undermine my feelings, needs, and wants, just to make sure we were happy. No, I cannot lie to myself, it was all to make sure you were happy. To make sure you would stay.

I wanted to make you proud even when I knew it would make me sad. The death I'd feel inside would be irrelevant when compared to the lively happiness that bubbled in you. For such a stupid dream, I was willing to lay everything down.

You could do no wrong, no, I couldn't even entertain the thought. It had to be me. It had to be imperfect, ugly, untalented me. I could never measure up to the high standards you'd set, and even my achievements paled in comparison to yours. I felt useless and unworthy of your company, not knowing that what I did looked so little because I put most of my energy into helping your personal agenda.

I abandoned my own dreams trying to fix yours, trying to live the life you wanted. To be your mannequin; to be fashioned in any way you would please. I only felt useful when I was being used by you. It gave me pride that I was needed, valued, even considered by someone like you despite my many disqualifying characters.

In was a chameleon, a changeling, an identity that was unstable, only depending on what your template was for it at that moment.

Did any warning bells go off in my head? Did anything wan me that I was diving unto a pavement headfirst? I'm unsure. Then, I blocked out every single voice, even if it was a voice of common sense. Once the voice said anything that seemed to bring you down from the pedestal I'd put you on, it was canceled.

Did I receive warnings from my friends? Yes, but what would they know? They didn't know anything about the thrills of being needed, being appreciated by someone.

Even if you intended to take me to hell, I'm unsure I would have rejected the offer. To be needed, trusted, commended, or praised by you was the highlight of my life at that time.

There was nothing else.

Until that castle built on fickle clouds came crashing. I was so obsessed with you recognizing me and my effort, I didn't even bother to know if you cared about me. About my dreams, my goals, my likes, my dislikes, my feelings, my sacrifices.

I discovered I was just a tool, and then I discovered I was a fool as well.

A fool to be in the very toxic relationship I'd always warned my friends against. A fool to have given my all without seeing the signs that you weren't giving anything. A fool to have been a willing host for the ruthless parasite you are, remorselessly feeding off my emotions, hard work, and efforts.

My self-esteem died when I started worshipping you and heeding your every word. I buried it when I began to hate myself for being used.

At first, I blamed myself for not making you proud. For not being good enough. For not measuring up to the lofty standards that you'd set. I was in a severe case of denial - I didn't want to believe that I was just playing myself. That you had no good intentions for me except from using me, controlling me, forcing your wishes and dreams unto me.

Using me to live the life you wish you had.

And even when confronted by my conscience and my friends about this denial, I denied being in denial. I was a confused soul lacking any direction or purpose in life. I would spend days crying alone in silence, thinking of how deep I had sunk, but unable to come out of that depression because I had tied a stone to my feet.

I refused myself to come out of that depression.

Thinking about how I was tying myself down gave rise to more depression, which made me think about how much I'd sunk which gave rise to even more depression. It was a snowball effect, a vicious cycle of toxic emotions.

Fear of death made me not want to consider suicide, but there was no death more painful than the life I had. So I cursed myself to live that life and endure.

Finally something saved me - new friends, God, food, a new purpose in life. It was a hellish process - committing myself to something after all I'd been through. I wouldn't call myself a fighter, my fighting spirit was dead. I decided if I wasn't going to kill myself, then I'd just go along with whatever life gave me.

I learned to make lemons with lemonade.

Even though I was committed to relationships with people, I still kept wary. Once bitten, twice shy, they say, and I wasn't ready for the rollercoaster of emotions that brought me here. If I keep moving suspicious and cautious, I would end up avoiding the trauma.

I kept people at arms' length. Close enough to interact with them, but far enough to not get affected by their wickedness and toxicity. Even today, I'm still not completely 'one with society'. Some wounds never heal, but people never really understand.

I've just grown to understand humans better. I've developed a sense of humor too, so that makes up for the fact that I can be unnecessarily blunt and cold when speaking. I hope that one day, I'll heal.

I hope.

They say there's always a light at the end of the tunnel. But I'm not banking on it anyway. If there is, woohoo! I get on with being happy. If there isn't, I still love. It's not necessarily my fighting spirit, but I have a lot to prove to myself and to all who looked down on, doubted or took advantage of me.

We move!

******

If you're wondering which part of the story is mine, my parents signed me up for the therapy sessions not knowing they were the cause of it. My dad was a perfectionistic education over-enthusiast who thought I was only useful if I took the first position in my class.

My Mom had and still has a serious issue with how she treats people, especially the way she talks to her children - the insults, the derogatory terms, everything.

It took a while before I was able to open up to them, but we're still just on a platonic relationship. Calling ourselves parents and children for the technicality in it not the love.

But like I said, we move.