I'm a walking tragedy - a walking martyr.

So, my family is dramatic.  I say this to almost justify the fact that I might come by my drama honestly.  Although I've been dramatic in some ways, the way that I'm the most dramatic is in a way no one would really know.  I'm a closet martyr. 

I can see a situation where what is the best for someone does not align with me and my wants and desires...so I pull back.

I pull back to the point of not getting what makes me happy, sometimes just shy of it...and what I feel is this deep pang - like I can feel my heart breaking.  It can be with a promotion, an award for something that I want but I know that the other person wants too (this typically only happens if I truly love that person and know that they deserve it too), the last slice of cake (okay, not really...I don't like cake), or, more commonly, in my close relationships with others.  I may want to say something to someone, but I hold back even when I know that what I have to say may change the course of their decision...because I recognize that it's my desire and my wishes that would push them a certain way...and I know, in my heart, that certain things need to be their decisions.  I risk losing it all simply because I didn't let my feelings become prominent.  Is it cutting off my nose to spite my face?  I don't even know anymore.

I've done it so many times with different boyfriends it's not even funny.

What they see is someone who is a giver - someone who smiles, pats them on the head, takes care of their needs before they're even aware of them...someone confident in herself, who is strong...who they don't have to worry about.  And so they don't...they don't give me a second thought.  I walk out the door and I like to think that they think to themselves that I am something else...you know, in a good way. :)  They feel loved and taken care of - and is the part that is so sweet in all of this.  

It hurts - like a toothache...only in my heart.  But in a way, it helps me feel more alive...as if the pain is a reminder that I am alive, I can feel...and somehow the pain makes any future sweetness that much sweeter and more precious.  It makes the sweetness of the moment so acute that I keep walking...right out that door.  What accompanies the pain is hope...hope that one day I won't have to put my feelings on the back burner for someone else.  That one day someone might actually do that for me. The pain spurs me on...to try harder, to be better, to be more deserving.  I go home, crawl into my shell crying to myself and vowing to build back the walls stronger and higher the next time.

I just realized...I'm a walking tragedy - a walking martyr.

It's not something I like about myself, but there must be some pay off.  I wonder where it stems from?  I wonder if it's me...deep down...thinking I'm not good enough to have the good stuff anyway so this is simpler, cleaner, and more efficient.

How strange.  All this time I thought it was because I didn't want to be manipulative.  In fact, that I was trying NOT to be dramatic.  That I didn't want to have my feelings and wants sway their decisions...so that they could be at peace with their choices and never turn to me with hate and blame in their eyes and say "it was you - you MADE me do this."  

All this time I thought I was strong...and now I'm realizing that I must not be strong at all.  I must be weak because I must be afraid that if I screamed out "PICK ME!" that they wouldn't.  That they'd shrug their shoulders and walk away anyway and then I'd know I for sure that I was right all along...I was not good enough.  That I wasn't simply enough...and that they'd know it too.

See, Lisa..you're not the only one that's visited by The Crazy.  She, apparently, stays at my place too.