That night, lying next to me, she opened herself fully. The light of the moon played in her eyes and shined off the slowly surfacing tears as her very soul escaped from those tender lips. To this day, I’m not even sure she was aware of my presence as she pierced deeper and deeper into her own vulnerability.

“The night gives me a respite from that pervasive anxiousness. The night is my escape. I am running from my life. I am running from being an adult, from making choices. I am afraid of making choices, at least the big ones. I am afraid to fail, because if I fail, I believe I am not worthy of love.”

“Well, I already believe that so I guess the truth is, if I fail it strengthens the belief. Failure Proves it.”

“I am a perfectionist. But I am flawed. What do I want from life? I want meaningful conversations, ones I can learn from. I want to know; I am afraid of what I don’t know. Well who isn’t? James and I are one and the same: Two people who feel unwhole and look to others to fix that.”

“But do I want to be healthy? Being healthy is not something I am used to. It is scary. I am afraid to take full responsibility for myself. Where will I be when I do? I’m afraid I can’t do it all right. I am afraid of accepting I am human; therefore, I am imperfect.”

“I wanted so badly for him to take care of me. I wanted so badly for him to fill the hole my mother left. Only I can fill that hole… but I only know unhealthy ways to do so. Junk food, caffiene, nicotine, drugs. All drugs. I was not ready to change. Am I now? I’m standing here on the precipice, afraid to jump. Will I? I’m so stubborn in my caution, always holding back.”

“Everything I’ve talked about with my therapist feels so unreal to me. Everything feels unreal. I wanted so badly for the relationship with him to be real that I jumped into it, KNOWING it wasn’t what I needed it to be. I continued the cycle, knowing full well what I was doing. Why does forgiveness for the self always come last, if at all? I’m no jesus christ. But I do know what I am: a person in search of brokenness, for if I surround myself with broken people, I will never have to take full responsibility for myself. I will always have an excuse.”

“And I always do, don’t I? Pretending to be broken when I’m nowhere near it. I left that hell physically, but I brought it with me spiritually. Holding onto the past so I never have to face the present. Always two steps behind what’s going on, so if I ***** up, I have an excuse. ‘Oh, I”m broken. I’m sorry for what happened, but I just can’t help myself.’ I don’t want or need you. Leave me the ***** alone. And by following this process, I can never truly be hurt, because none of it was real to me anyhow. It was all a dream, and someday I’ll wake up and start again. But this is all there is. And I refuse to deal with that.”