I listen to old music. I don’t do it often. It takes me back.
Through the melancholy of Tori Amos, Fionna Apple and Byork, I am transported back to a time when pain was so fierce and ran so deep that I tried to out run it.
I longed to be loved because I couldn’t love myself. I wanted so badly to be loved by someone else.
I thought you were suppose to care. I learned to expect it and then I learned to expect nothing.
I was so desperate for the loving; it sickened me. I was pathetically weak. As I go back into those deep dark feelings I feel the self-loathing that supported suicidal ideations.
I grieve the girl who didn’t know herself. Who wanted to escape her reality so badly she would do any drug you put in front of her.
I desperately wanted to connect. I thought with other people, but I wanted to connect so deeply with my Self, my true Self.
I grieve the girl who was creative, brave, a leader, who sang and danced and shared her spirit so freely. It felt taken from me. I thought other people took it. But I unknowingly and unconsciously gave it away. I didn’t know I needed to protect it from those I loved. I thought they would foster it, feed it, water it and help me grow.
That burned me. That burned me for a long time.
I grieved the girl that I needed to start loving. And so I did. I devoted my existence to learning to love myself and never expecting others to do it for me. They weren’t meant to. I was meant to foster, feed and water myself.
And so I do. Gladly, willingly, most lovingly.
I love the girl who went through trauma, mental health, substance use, co-dependency, perfectionism, workaholism…
I am the girl who demonstrates, leads and loves with all of my being all those who have experienced hardships. My soul came here to evolve and use all of this life to expand in conscious loving. I am…