Intense hurt has become normal to me. Hurt so severe that I can do nothing other than welcome the pain with arms wide open.

  Letting a boy have all of the power over my heart was the first mistake I made.  Yet… something… continues to draw me back.  I continue to go back and make the same, terribly destructive decisions that allowed this storm to pour onto me.

  My friends, they worry about their “soulmates” as well. We go out of our way to make “our” boys like us back, and even after all we do, they somehow still make us feel like it’s not enough.

  This is such a common feeling among my friends and I, and we are not good at picking and choosing our battles.

   For this burden, this pain, we have thrown away friendships and opportunities. We worry about how we will choose to spend our Friday nights. What could possibly be the thought process behind our actions? We cannot even begin to try to understand them. Trust me, we have tried.

  This unhealthy cycle, that I have grown so fond of, should definitely be the last thing I lose sleep over. Somehow, it seems to be the thing that keeps me awake at night. I lie in my bed and wonder if there is any way I could be on his mind too.

   My friends and I have collectively sat and pondered what could be, what has been, and what is true. The questions arise in us more and more as time carries on. Most of us agree, we love it when they say they love us. Our hearts always jump at the thought.

   Often my heart swells when I think he must really love me. That is my continued mistake. Believing his sweet words. What is it that he wants from me now? I give in. I have to. All I want is to be what he treasures. Yet, no matter how hard I try, he continues to hurt me. 

   I realize I am merely a doormat to him. Something to stomp on and continue on with his day.  But sadly, I am always glad he can continue his day. Why do I put his feelings first. 

  I cannot go back. I will not. I will not let him do this to me again. The feeling of letting go begins to sting. Like a vile taste in the back of my mouth, his presence continues to nag at me.

  I have to let go. This boy, the God of mischief, has worked me with his words for the last time.  I swear!

   Never again, at least until the sound of the doorbell rings again. I will open the door and it will be him. “Hey, I still love you, and I miss you.” he will tell me. Of course I will forgive him. Back to normal is all I know.