I Remember him Clearly.

I still have no idea how any version of me could rely so heavily on a boy for happiness. It seemed like every part of me needed him. I so badly wanted to be appreciated--not loved, I wouldn't let myself ask for love--by him. Although I adored him so much, some part of me was deeply, crushingly terrified, and as time passed, that part of me grew more and more evident. I thought about him night and day, and every word I said to him had been anxiously anticipated, but God forbid I ever tell him, for sheer terror of ruining what little we had.

The truth is, back then, I was on the verge of a deep depression, and knowing him pushed me over the edge. I thought he was making me happy, and I told myself that after every anxiety attack, every night I spent worrying about him. A disaster was I, and deeply infatuated. But was it infatuation? That period of my life is still a mystery to me, and I've come to the conclusion that it was nothing about him that made me feel the way I did. I was searching for something to fuel my depression. He was it, and boy, did it fuel those flames. I've succeeded in putting it far behind me, although there was a time when I thought I never would. Still, if given the chance to go back and tell myself to snap out of it, that there's nothing--nothing-- healthy about depending on someone else for my own well being, I would take it. However, that was a part of my life, and every struggle I've gone through has helped me to get here. If that experience was what it took to be here, that's absolutely fine with me.