“The what ifs”

I don’t feel loved. Maybe because I’m not loved — and I know it. You’d think knowing it now is better than finding it out later. But it’s not.

Whenever I look around and see people being all lovey-dovey, I tell myself that’ll be me one day. That I’ll make the perfect choice — as if there even is a perfect choice. I tell myself, “I’ll meet someone who’ll make me happy, who’ll change for me.” But the truth is, they’d probably leave faster than the speed of light before they’d ever change.

Who says they won’t hurt me? Or leave me? Or turn into someone I don’t even recognize — an abuser. In my worst nightmare, I’m married with two kids, and you’d think, what’s so bad about that? But in that nightmare, the dad is selfish, careless, and cruel. He doesn’t care about me or his children. I wouldn’t want my kids to live through that.

I’d rather be single and dead than let that happen.

I just want someone to love me — and to love my kids too.

But then I wonder… what if my kids hate me?

When I was 16, I hated everything about my life. My only escape was school — strange, I know — but it was the one place I could breathe, laugh, and feel a little free.

I tried to end it once. I took seven pills, but I got scared and threw them up. I failed — and part of me was both relieved and ashamed.

So why would I bring a child into this world, only to risk them feeling the same way I did? What if they ended up braver than I was — and succeeded where I didn’t? What if they carried my anger, my shame, my anxiety — all the things I’ve tried to bury — and turned that pain inward? I’d hate to make my kids hate themselves, the way I once did.

The future is a terrifying place. All I ever do is think about it — all the what ifs spinning in my head.

But then again… who am I to complain? There are people who have it worse. Maybe I’m even lucky, in a way.