I spat the words out, leaving a bad taste in my mouth. How could I use these moments to speak so lowly of myself? I paused cause I was my greatest friend. I needed to speak gently to myself.
It didn’t work.
Disgusting and worthless. The words felt like labels on my forehead. And I couldn’t help but think they were true. In the pit of my stomach I knew I deserved every terrible comment anyone made about me. I looked in the mirror, wiped the tears from my eyes, and repeated my mantra. I would always remain light and love. I asked around, wondering they saw the same in me. Their words came gentle and kind but I couldn’t see anything in the dark.
This feeling of uselessness didn’t last long. Only long enough to remind myself this confidence I built ain’t always solid. Sometimes it takes more that positive words and kind friends to love yourself.
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.