This one is for The Script and my soul.
Writers Block 100%… I memorized all of their albums because they snatched me out of a rough place.
I always wondered how people could love others before loving themselves. What exactly did they love about the person if they never saw positive qualities while looking in a mirror. I wondered if it was possible to be completely devoted to someone when your own image disappoints. I wondered about progress. I spent and still spend time thinking about us. Humans, you know? As a work in progress. The development of the self. If we can never be perfect, could we ever love correctly? Is it possible to love while also trying to heal?
Then it hit me. My experience has been nasty. So nasty, but I realized every time I thought I loved someone it was one step closer in trying to figure out how to love myself. I have always tried to heal others and call it love. I can fix them, I really can. I know what they’re going through, I really do. Just let me love you. That’s what it became. The idea of someone with disturbing hurtful habits was okay and somehow they were always forgiven because I would never give up. He won’t do it again. They’re lying… I wouldn’t allow myself to give up because it just wasn’t who I was. You’re not a quitter. To never give up on the dark… it became a game. The more suffering this person carried, the harder I fought…
However, what was I trying to prove? Simple. That I indeed was capable of carrying pillars. That I could be strong. My strength was tested and so was my energy. I always thought that if I could stick it out, then the people I “loved” would feel what it really meant to be cherished. That these people were closer to seeing the light. That being loved wasn’t as hard as their neighborhoods and boys made it seem.
I am a natural caretaker. An afro-latinx feminist raised in a small ass apartment full of men. All I knew was character, attitude, and tough love. My fathers rough words and tough spirit closed all the doors for all the good men in the world. They simply didn’t exist. Everyman in the world became who my father was. If you weren’t a reflection you weren’t anything.
Im so annoyed. Why did I feel like I always had to fix men? Why did I always feel like they could change? I damaged the self. I allowed myself to be manipulated, I allowed myself to lose integrity. I killed myself internally. Lies tore friendships and family saw me suffer. It saddened me and the clean up was never easy. This was a pattern. Repeated. A new man was a new project until I got tired of doing construction.
Summer was when I found true acceptance, love for myself. I learned that sometimes it’s okay to be content with who you are and not always feel like a busy bee. I didn’t always have to be fixing anything or anyone. Luckily, I found true love.
I need to stop here…for now.