It’s not as fun to witness a trainwreck you can’t look away from when you’re the one driving the train. Or at least that’s what I’m told, that I’m the one driving the train.

But is there really any driving when it’s a train? You’re merely controlling the speed at which you move down the rails. You don’t get to pick where the rails go because they already exist. You can’t hold people hostage on the train if they want to get off.

And what happens when everyone gets off the train? What happens when you watch people reach their desired destinations, knowing you aren’t even halfway to yours. The rails seem like they will never end.

You’re left with a choice: do you continue letting the train roll down the rails? Do you jump off even though it’s traveling at lightning speed? Do you try to slow it down and hope that doesn’t cause delays or collisions with other locomotives on the same rails? Or do you simply let the train run at full speed until it crashes and burns?

I thought things were going well. I thought I was alright. But it turns out my perception of reality is off, and I’m the main culprit.

I love hard. I am fierce for the people I care about. I provide and protect and encourage and support and love unconditionally. But not when it comes to myself.

And here’s the real kicker: I was actually starting to. I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I’d discovered the secret I’d been missing, the key to unlock all of my deepest desires and dreams. And then I messed it up.

I want to feel loved. I want to be desirable. I want to be seen as more than what I provide to others. I want to be sad and hurt and angry and lost and all of the things without being told that it’s too much. I want to let out all of the feelings I bottle up every single day in the arms of someone I know won’t care if I cry for an hour to the point that snot drips out of my nose.

Is that too much to ask for?

I say it is. So it is.

Which, really, that’s exactly the root of the issue. I will always be too much for everyone as long as I believe I am too much. But it’s hard to believe you are anything less than too much when the moment those negative feelings bubble up, it becomes frustrating and inconvenient and self-sabotaging.

I thought that loving myself a little bit would be okay, that I could continue picking back up the pieces as long as there was someone there to help. But that only works if you let people help. And you can’t let people help when you ask for help and get yelled at in return.

So I’m done. I’m letting go of the brake. The train can drive itself. It always has.

Distance, timing
Breakdown, fighting
Silence, the train runs off its tracks
Kiss me, try to fix it
Could you just try to listen?
Hang up, give up
For the life of us we can’t get back

-Taylor Swift, “Sad Beautiful Tragic”