I’ll be turning 30 in a little under a month. I really don’t want to carry baggage into my 30s, but you know, maybe we’re all a little screwed up. My screwed up bits come from broken relationships, dating back to non-existing friendships as a little girl, wanting to be accepted by the kids at school, but never feeling known. Liked. Certainly not loved.

I gave my heart away quickly as a 16-year-old in her first relationship. The first time being kissed, feeling like the desires of my heart were being fulfilled. It started on March 7. Foolish because on Valentine’s Day, a few weeks before, he left roses on her car. The car of the girl he’d eventually go back to. The girl he’d lie about, pursue, cheat with.

It’s funny just how much my first broken heart relates to my last. In my mind, they are two extremely similar people. The two narcissists I’ve dated. Both three-letter names that are interchangeable in my mind. Sometimes I get them mixed up. They were two boys rejected by other women, and used me to fill the gaps in their heart. Both abusive, the first physically and on the edge of sexually.

I question how I’ve ever let myself be so foolish. How and why did I let those things happen? Why did I break my rules and give myself to men who didn’t deserve it? Men who lied and never cared about me. Who wanted someone else and just used me as a distraction until they could finally get what they wanted. And the thing is, why does the last one still sting?

I didn’t want to be with him. I don’t want to be with him. I had a choice and I made it.

So why not just sit and be thankful that I’m lucky enough to have once been truly loved by another man? The only man I loved unconditionally. A man, to this day, I consider to be the kindest soul I’ve ever met. But a man who God clearly told me wasn’t mine.

I don’t know what my point is with sharing this. I’m just… processing. I guess.

I need to forgive. These men. The women who intentionally got mixed up in it all.

And mostly, I need to forgive myself.