How Loving Someone Nearly Killed Me

October 23, 2017

I still wear the scars from that time in my life, both internally and externally.

Once upon a time, there was a girl. A girl who loved a man very much.

She believed she saw beauty in his soul. She believed she saw his potential, and she loved him for it.

She knew who he was, but more importantly, she saw the man she believed he could be.

But he hurt.

He had a darkness in his soul. A darkness she refused to acknowledge. A darkness she was sure she could overcome.

But she was wrong.

And because of that hurt and that darkness, he hurt her. A lot.

He hurt her so badly that by the end, she was a shell of her former self.

She had either lost or locked away everything that made her her.

She believed she had no value beyond the value he assigned to her.

She believed that no one could ever love her and that she was worthless.

She was a burden. She was nothing and she was no one.

So, she decided to take her own life.

She made a plan.

She wrote letters.

She turned off her phone and she locked her doors.

She believed to the core of her being that no one would miss her. That she had become too much of a burden and it would be better for everyone if she was no longer alive.

And even more than that, she just wanted the pain to end.

Life was too hard. It just hurt too much.

She was 10 minutes from death when two people who loved her — even though she wasn’t capable of loving herself — broke into her apartment, pulled her out of her bathtub, bound her bleeding wrists with towels, and called for help.

She stayed in the hospital until they told her she could go.

She didn’t fight. She took the help she knew she needed.

She went to the counseling. She took the meds. She learned to value herself again.

And she forgave herself for loving a man who hurt her — for allowing herself to be abused and made to believe she was nothing.

She forgave herself for being weak.

She began to love herself again.

Slowly. Cautiously. She began to believe in her worth again.

It will be 8 years in August, and I still wear the scars from that time in my life, both internally and externally.

But I am alive — and more than that, I am full of life.

I am full of love.

And I am whole.

If you are hurting, if you feel alone, if you believe you are worthless or a burden, if you believe no one loves you or that you are unworthy — know that I am here.

I see you. I hear you. I love you.

It will be okay. I promise.

Ask for help. Reach out.

Anytime, day or night.

If you or someone you know is suffering from suicidal thoughts, please seek help immediately by calling The National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. There is hope.

Images via tumblr.com and giphy.com.


This article has been republished from Yourtango with full permission. You can view the original article here.

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