She tried to catch my eyes as I avoided hers, “every time I’m bout to do something, I remember what you said and I think “love yourself.” Girl, take your own advice.”
I brushed her off knowing that I wasn’t going to take my word as bond. Loving yourself takes more work than loving someone else. That sometimes self care involves doing things I don’t want to do. And I wasn’t ready so instead I continued to fall in and out of love with people and things knowing they couldn’t keep me happy.
Still forcing my attention, I focused on what I craved most. Those nights I curled up in his arms afraid of the day I accepted that he wasn’t the right one for me. That his body was placeholder I was too nervous to remove, unsure of what I’d find instead. Not wanting to deal with the fact that sex was no longer bodies intertwined with bodies, passion, sex funky I ignored the way my stomach dropped as I tried to feed that craving.
I realize that life is about getting hurt and sometimes that hurt comes from accepting the things you don’t want to. And I have to accept that my desperation for love is my favorite form of self harm.