At first, I probably thought they’d fall in love with me if they had sex with me. Then I’d see the empty look in their eyes and my heart would sink, but it’s late now and he’s going at it while my heart is breaking because no matter how deep he goes, he’s never going see me beyond the object I’ve made myself to be. Love starts miles before sex. I start miles before love.

I recognize emotions I never want to feel again, but never know got to not get there. No matter what routes you take you always end up in a bubble of uncertainly, vulnerability and insecurity. You can’t just switch it off and feel fabulous again, not once you spiralled through. How do you fight yourself and tell yourself you’ll be okay no matter what happens, no matter who comes and goes you’ll always have you. How do you remind yourself you are more than enough?

We always miss the ones who fuck us over. Is it because we lost a great part of ourselves in them? Or is it because the ones who fuck us over are always the ones we give our hearts to. Because if you hadn’t given them your all, they wouldn’t have had the power to hurt you. And because they got under our skin despite their disappointing efforts, a part of us will always miss them given an opportunity. We want to hate them, we want to hate the way they made us feel. We want to hate the lies. But we also miss the way our hearts flew with them. So where does Love end and self-love begin?

I was afraid if I opened my eyes I would awaken into the realm of your absence.

I love you because I don’t know how to not.

I love you for all the times you were there for me. I love you for the way you found my ordinary amusing. I love you for the way you loved me back, every single day. I love you for being so kind and understanding; having a heart deeper than the ocean, loving beyond the world needs and being so kind that you hurt yourself before you hurt anyone else. I love you for every breath you took with me when my lungs wouldn’t cooperate. I love you for letting my tears stain your shirt, and not minding it one bit. I love you for the way you showed up out of nowhere to help me declutter because you knew how insane my OCD was. I love you for never questioning my crazy. I love you for the way you loved me back, for who I am, nothing more and nothing less. I love you for making me fall in love with myself all over again. I love you because my love was always meant for you. And I will always love you, because I don’t know how to not.

So much of us I wanted to keep, but keeping was holding  on. 

No one knows how hard it is for you; you who lives in your own prison of hatred self-loathing and failure. No one listens to you, no one understands. No one even has the time. But they demand your time so they can clear their consciences and tell themselves ok I’ve given this thought like a task they can kick off a list but never really consume themselves in it because who has the time for that. So I make it easier for them and keep everyone off my issues.

I remember telling my mother how I didn’t have it in me to take on my studies, that I was at the edge, I didn’t know how else to explain. But of course, brilliant as she is, she has forever failed to empathise with me and this time was no different. The disconnection truly is appalling. One of the cases where her maternal instincts definitely failed to kick in. I’m the different one, the one no one really understands.

Now, every time I go over my lessons I wish to kill myself even sooner. Now, this isn’t something Id say, but it truly is how I feel. And I’m sick of the oh I’m okay how are you. No, I’m not okay. I don’t think I will ever be okay again. I took my okay for granted. We are long past okays.

When you say rough it out or get through the storm, I feel like I’ve already withered enough storms and I no longer have the capacity to endure further. I just don’t have it in me anymore. I don’t have it in me to tolerate even the slightest inconveniences as that for me is the world failing me for the hundredth time. I’m at my peak. I’m too deep in my troubles adapting a new perspective is impossible. From where I stand, everything is bleak.