Who I Choose To Be

It’s that time again, the time of year when old resentments come back to haunt, and throw me into a depression that seems like it will never end. The feeling of pain and anger toward those that claim to love me... for hurting me, for expecting me to be someone that I am not (I know that’s a fragment, but I don’t really care). I wonder how the people in my life can justify laying all of the responsibility for the success or failure of our relationships on me. Does the way they were raised excuse them from any responsibility? Am I forever to take the blame for everything that goes wrong? Is it my lot in life to accept that I will always be the one to make the sacrifices, to always do the apologizing for things I haven’t done, and to go without having my needs fulfilled so that everyone else can be happy? I don’t think so.

Yes, I am angry. I am angry that (at one time) it was not acceptable for me to grieve my losses (and I still haven’t). I am angry that no one was willing to help, and I am angry that I am made to feel that I am of no importance, and then told I have no self esteem. I am angry that I have to tell them that I feel ignored, because I should never be made to feel that way in the first place, and I am angry that I am the only one who puts in the effort.

I have no regrets about the life I’ve led, even though there are people who think I should. I haven’t done anything wrong. Is it wrong to want the freedom to choose who I am going to be instead of the person they think I should be? Is it wrong to fight for that? Is it wrong to write down my feelings, no matter how negative they are? It’s not my fault if other people choose to read them without my permission. Is it wrong to not be like them?

I have every right to be me. I have every right to feel the way I do, and I most certainly have every right to fight for that. I will not accept my fate (as they see it). I will not accept all the responsibility, or the blame, and I will not accept being treated like I am nothing more than a punching bag. Relationships mean nothing unless I matter too.

Fortunately for me, this only happens once or twice a year, or after I talk to someone who makes me feel like crap!

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