The unwanted goodbyes leave only emptiness. They leave plans half-full, memories half-empty, and force us into a bitter, half-assed form of acceptance. They leave us feeling numb and stagnant in our sorrow... As we know that the memories that could have existed never will.
What happens when you’ve found yourself stuck in some kind of limbo of satisfaction with who you are?
I’ve repeatedly found myself torn between completely loving or hating myself. There is rarely an in-between for me. There are moments when I’m so proud of the work I’ve done, where I’ve gotten, and who I’ve become. In those moments I truly and wholeheartedly love myself… But those feelings don’t tend to last very long.
It’s like my brain flips a depression switch and I’m back to hating myself. I feel like I’m not enough, I’m not worth it, I shouldn’t be here, my existence is pointless… Blah blah blah. I’m left feeling 102% unsatisfied and disappointed in where I still am and who I think i should be. Touché to mental sabotage…
I just don’t know what to do to fix this anymore. The only thing I feel like I can do at this point is let it happen, ride it out, and hope the self-love lasts longer than the hate.
Time heals… I get that. Personal effort and growth is key… Yeah sure. But will time and effort really be able to invoke complete love for myself? Or do all of us just learn to tolerate and cope with ourselves enough to survive?
I wanted the love letters carved, not delicately etched, so they could remain permanent, as scars in my flesh. I needed the words engraved, without pause or restraint, by fervent hands yearning, for where my skin lay in wait.
Sometimes I feel like I am as insignificant to you as a dust particle floating through the air. Then for a brief second I glimmer from the sun... And you notice me as abruptly as I am forgotten. Originally posted 9/9/20
We both looked to each other for the love we weren't giving ourselves.
Daylight comes and casts that soft glow through my blinds... And there you are... Coming into focus like a picture developing... Perfectly silhouetted... And entirely mine.
That moment you walk into your patient's room and she's visibly dead... And the granddaughter who is holding her hand looks at you and mouths "help me" through tears... And you realize that she's been holding her dead grandma's cold hand for twenty minutes while the rest of her family chats in the corner... Because she just didn't know how to tell them.
Your body silently lays right besides mine... Creating a warmth I cannot define. My sweat begins to bead and my heart starts to pound... As I realize what I had lost has finally been found.
Like a cookie cutter I will outline your hands... As I delicately trace you with all of my fingers.
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