I want to push harder, but I’m scared. Scared that if I do, they’ll leave. Even though I’ve healed, there’s still this lingering thought that I’m unlovable. I’ve believed it for so long that it’s like muscle memory—the feeling of not being wanted or loved enough.
Children who grow up broken become broken adults. So love your kids well, not because it’s something that needs to be said, but because it should be instinctual—human nature. Every child who isn’t loved properly grows into someone who craves it, who settles for any scraps of affection they find. They’ll love you raw, without armor, because they’re desperate. So they settle. I’ll take what I can get. If intimacy means giving myself up, then fine. I’ll do it just to feel close to someone, to feel loved, even if it’s fleeting. Damn this life. Damn the demons I carry. Damn every self-sabotaging, destructive version of me.
I feel heavy with sadness today.
I’m in tears. I want to call you, to say I need you. But if you wanted to be here, you would be. So I don’t.
She Was Sea 