I am damaged. Damaged goods as they say, but I am also beautiful. I am like kintsugi. Broken, cracked, with edges that are chipped, but there is light in my healing wounds. My cracks are filled with gold. None of my scars are in vain. All the hurt and pain I experienced in my life made me eccentric and special (complicated and difficult), but I am strong. I am a survivor. And I matter. I fucking matter and my life is valuable.
Those words, all of the above are obvious to most people, they know their worth, they are not their own worst enemy. It is different for me. I sabotage my healing daily. If the right opportunity arises, I bow down, forget who I am, kneel, and submit to people claiming their love, yet never being there when it is important or needed.
It’s a sure way to invite narcissistic people into my life. And once they are starting to gaslight me, I break apart. In the end – and that’s the essence of me – I want to be loved the way that I am. But – and this is crucial too, – I am scared shitless that I can’t see, feel, or understand love. I just know that love is not supposed to hurt. It is supposed to feel safe and not vulnerable and fragile.
If I floated out into the ocean, closed my eyes, spread my arms, and jumped, would I fly, or would I drown?
Deep down inside, on a good day, and after a good night, I know that I am enough, and that should be all that matters.
(But I am greedy – delirious, I always want (need) more.)
Don’t leave me behind in your mind.
Locked, buried under the broken mess you left behind and where no one will find – me
See you soon… xx
PS: watch You on Netflix or read the books by Caroline Kepnes, or do both… Thank me later. ❤💜