When I Thought I Wasn't Good Enough
When I think of you I am not taken to the memories where I fell in love with you, I am not taken there – I am taken to the bedroom where I stood in front of our bed, your bed. I hated the sheets, I wanted more color, I wanted more throw pillows, but you wanted white and black. I am standing over the bed you laid in with the mother of your child. Where you loved, where you held your daughter together, where you had sex, where you woke up together. Its been cleaned and replaced with another person. I am standing in what we called our house, In front of my bed, eyes full of tears. I cry, and I tell my fiance that he can sleep with other woman... if only I can have the man I fell in love with, back. If I can have that person back, feel him, touch his lips again, hear his voice say “honey” after the I love you that I waited to hear every time. I dismissed the whole point of the sentence “ I love you “ it was mute to me, It only mattered if I heard honey for some reason. It spoke something different to me, restless, barley awake, id touch his chest and say I love you to hear honey once more. In those moments, that was all the reassurance I needed. We were okay.
Every night we gathered together in our save place, bed. We forget about our problems long enough to sleep one more night together – In hopes when we wake, I'll have him back. These problems couldn't really exist, right?
Until we woke and life became a reality when we had to go about our daily life.
I watched him every morning, and despite our differences, he'd lift his restless body out of bed – as bad as he wanted to stay tucked in where he was safe. He got up, turned the light on, and would sit there next to me frustrated that he can never find matching socks.
He would go into the kitchen and put the shirt I ironed the night before on, I'd yell to remind him to not forget his lunch. I'd lay there waiting - waiting for him to kiss my forehead before he left … when he didn't, I knew we weren't okay. Every morning I laid in bed waiting to see if he remembered I was here, that I needed that kiss. How petty of me to need something so simple to fall back asleep. Does he know?
Does he know I wake up every morning thinking of him? Thinking what I can do to make his life easier. So, I do the only thing I know what to do naturally – I clean the house, I do the laundry, fold it, and stand in front of his side trying to remember where he likes his shirts exactly. I clean the floors because he hates to have crunchies in bed. I light a candle. I have dinner ready when he gets home. We lay there on the couch and I ask to massage his feet. Feet are gross, and there was something about massaging his feet that literally made me happy. To touch any part of his body, to ease any amount of stress I can. We'd get in bed and I would crawl into my spot under his arm, I'd kiss him, and nearly every night we ever had together – I would place my hand on his chest, gather my breathing to get in tune with his. I'd say a prayer to myself that God/Universe will take the anxiety away, to surround him with goodness, light, and maybe give me some so he can have less of it.
How can I love a human this much and I am still not good enough. Am I loving him wrong, what do I need to do to change things about me? So I pay close attention to the girls he talks to... the girls he doesn't know I know about. Okay... so I need to look more like them? I'll never be white, I can't have blonde hair, and I can't be 100lbs.
I begin to look at myself in such disgust, maybe I need to tinier to fit into his expectations.
Now I am in my own skin scared shitless to be naked in front of him because I don't look good enough. I am the same me the day we met to the moment we share right now
I can't take it anymore so I create a fight any chance I get to get reassurance that I am good enough. If I try to leave, he'll fight for me, and I will know, right? How can he not see what I am doing, why can he not see me hurting, why can he not see me so desperate to have him WANT me. Does he want anymore, or am I just convenient. I am so unsure of anything right now – our relationship is going downhill.. we fight to make up, and I lay there at night mad at myself that I caused a fight that we worked thru, but it's another reason he won't want me tomorrow. Right now is okay, so I will take it and hate myself tomorrow. I am in bed with him, no other girl has stolen him from me. I've won one more night. What will tomorrow hold?
We have good days, and bad days to follow. I am losing pieces of myself along this journey and I am not aware of it yet. I am scooping to levels I never would of done before to have a man love me, to feel wanted, and be as important that he is to me.
I am taken back to a memory one day as I look out the window. I am eleven years old – my brothers and sister sit next to me laughing as we sit in the car with our foster parents. I am not aware of what they're laughing about. I am looking at the green grass pass so quickly and I am left there thinking about my sibling's father sexually abusing me. We are on our way to get ice cream, why am I thinking about this? It's all I ever think about. How do I get this out of my head, will I ever?
Am I programmed to love men that hurt me. I often wonder why I didn't leave when he told me I wasn't going to be good enough one day. Did I stick around to prove a point to myself or to him that I am worthy enough to be treated well with love, respect, goodness, and more than a body to use. How did I get this far from myself. I yell inside, NO! You are better than this Mariah – walk away! Instead, I sit there on the bayou wall, head down, eyes full of tears asking myself what I did to make him not want me anymore. I sit there silently as he tells me one day he will get tired of having sex with just me, he will need another woman. I say nothing, standing over me, he gestures his hand down to lift me off the ground, and we walk away like he just didn't break a million pieces in me that took a very long time to rebuild from my childhood.
The cycle begins – we break up, we sleep with other people, we get back together. We find out about these other people and the insecurity has taken over even more. Now I want him to feel how I do – that is where I fucked up. I wanted him to feel something he most likely already felt deep down, but that wasn't good enough for me. I was in need of attention, regardless of who it came from so maybe he would want me back. What have I done... I don't look at any other human the way I look at him, why? I try so hard, I want so badly to look at another man the way I do him just so maybe I can start over.
Why am I not good enough. I'd rather live a lifetime without knowing love than love him as bad as I do in this moment.
This content is accurate and true to the best of the author’s knowledge and is not meant to substitute for formal and individualized advice from a qualified professional.
© 2019 Mariah Schnoebelen