That is the question I ask me everyday. I live in the idea that I am well but really, I never feel content with anything I have now because I know, but I refuse to see, that my life is anchored in the past and in all my wonderful dellusions.
I chose pain. I choose it. All the time. I hurt but I still go back to the thing that broke me. And he breaks me everyday: when he is sweet now and ignores me kfor the next eight hours, when he invites me to a date, and then cancels at the last minute, when he asks me questions and then never responds to my replies.
But it was OK.
So, I tolerated the chains he starngled around my neck. I was his dog on a leash all because I thought it is better to have some than none. All because I thought I was in love.
This is not love. Thisi s neediness.
Love makes you grow. Love makes you hurt then makes you happy. Love makes you feel your worth. Love does not make you wait. Wait with hours on end. Love does not make you question. Love makes you feel secured. Love is crying happy tears and not of brokenheartedness. Love is loneliness sometimes and making up after that.
There was happiness in the little showers of time but there is greater somber in our woven false timelessness. I know. But I desist acceptance all due to a bit of hope. And there are times hope downs healing.
I love, he loved.
And real love does not beg.
How do I love myself?
I must let go. I must bleed but I’ll let go. It would hurt but I’d let go. Because no matter how much I tell myself that it is going to be “us”, someone someday will be giving me the love I am worthy of without me doubting what I am to him.
Then I should srop waiting. Because ladies do not beg. They are loved.
Note: hypothetical piece