lovingmeissufferingme

[lovingmeissufferingme]

How much of us is this dreadful in between? Waiting for you to return. Waiting for you to leave. I hate how much of our lives have become anticipation.

[lovingmeissufferingme]

my attachment to characters in media who has dealt with so much only connects to my need to be their comfort. to comfort them as I have always wanted to be comforted

[lovingmeissufferingme]

He asks me if I think I’m harder to love because I do not know how to exist. I say yes because it’s the answer that’s been on the tip of my tongue since I knew what love was. Love is begging for acceptance, love is being perfect, love is earning someone’s time and attention. I don’t know how to ask him for something I don’t think I deserve sometimes and the battle for that roars in my head every night before I go to sleep. And sometimes I go to sleep alone wondering if i did enough that day to be worthy of something the next day and I’m so keenly aware that it does not work like that but my heart says otherwise. I don’t know how to fix the part of the me that cowers in the corner like a child when I feel unwanted. I don’t know how to communicate it without feeling like I am begging for attention. I wish I could be comfortable in my own skin, I wish i could tell him it isn’t his fault, that it’s mine, that there’s something inside me rotting away and I’m trying to chip at it but all I have are my hands and my nails keep breaking as I claw at the poison. I do think being loved means earning that love. I hope that one day, maybe soon, hopefully soon, my body will relax and I will realize how much I am loved and can be loved. I can see that thought and I want to sink it into the material of my lungs so it is a part of me. I hope that one day, letting myself be loved will not take so much work.