I'm Sorry I'm Not What You Wanted

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

My journey to healing...I hope anyone who is going through a difficult time finds strength in my words. Don't give anyone so much power over your thoughts that you feel a slave to your own mind.
Don't let anyone strip you of your self-worth. You are strong. You are beautiful.

Submitted: October 10, 2017

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Submitted: October 10, 2017



My breath catches. I feel the sweat pooling at my hairline as my shirt clings to my overworked body. I look straight ahead, solely focused on moving forward.

“Go, keep going.”

I tell myself that I must keep going, I must keep moving. My heart is beating so loudly that I feel it in my ears; my thoughts are consumed with this present moment. I pass a window and see my reflection, my eyes are dilated and I am covered in sweat.

I ask myself “why do I do this, do I like the pain? What would happen if I stopped?”

I could never bring myself to answer that question. Running has always been my release. I used to think that running was my way of escaping my problems. But in reality, my problems follow me even there. My mind is a dark place, at times it feels like I’m a prisoner in my own thoughts, confined by memories, hunger, dark desires, things I can’t say out loud, things I’m ashamed to say out loud.

When I run, those things hide, the desires are overshadowed by the thudding of the blood in my ears and my focus on my fluttering heartbeat.

When I run, I don’t see faces, his face...I don’t have flashbacks of the storm clouds I’d see in his eyes, the way he would slither in beside me at night and wrap his body around mine, the passion I felt as our bodies entangled to become one, the way he would caress my breasts and adore my body. All of those moments fade to the back where they should be.

When I run, I’m numb. I like the pain that comes with running, the way I push my body to its limits, as if I’m punishing it for failing me. If I could’ve been good enough, would he have stayed? Was my stomach not flat enough, or my hips too wide? If I could’ve had better endurance, would he have been more satisfied in bed? My body is my temple but also my slave. I work it to the bone, bring it to the edge...I keep running.

I feel my vision beginning to blur, but I can’t stop. If I stop, I fail. If I stop, he will be there. If I stop, he’ll have been right...I wasn’t enough. So I work through it. I push through the pain, the cramping in my legs and the thirst I feel burning in my throat. He won’t win, I’ll regain control of my mind...I just can’t stop running.

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