"I love you", said my friend. My friend? I thought that wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. And then it started. A torrential flow of feelings everywhere, exploding from my mind in a million directions as I pushed myself over my boundary, over and over, exposing my inner secrets, my shames, and my scars. It's scary, so, so, so very scary.
People have rejected me for who I am. Do you understand what this means? It means I shake violently at the thought of being myself, almost to the point of vomiting. Do you understand how draining it is, to feel this ruminating volcano inside of me every single day? No wonder I was so close to give up. I physically didn't let myself be myself. There was nowhere to turn back to. No home to return to. No family to embrace with open arms. My mind was by itself. Struggling. Breaking.
Yes, I had food on the table and a roof above my head, but what I didn't have was love. Familiar, safe, unconditional love. Like what my friend gave me. Love that families should give. I've never had it, so it felt like a hole in my heart. I thought this love could only be given sexually. Or even sexually, with force. The opposite of gentle love. I've never felt it. I never felt love like that. So I thought I could find it through sex. Drawings and roleplay.
I can't do that. I can't grow old and still do that. I need to become a better person. I need to feel healed from my past. I'm not ashamed about that, but I feel just sad. For missing the warm embrace for so many years. To belong somewhere, to be part of something, that would lead to a feeling of belovedness. To not worry about my place in the world; if my manners, feelings, ideas and personality belonged on Earth.
I am serious. One new year's it was close. So very close to just giving up. I would never find, much less figure out what kind of love I was looking for. A hole in my heart that I couldn't explain and that I couldn't talk about. And then, that friend. That friend comes out of nowhere and loves me for whom I am. From the safe side.
And I cannot believe it. I yell, scream, point my finger at them and shout at them to leave. Because I don't want to believe it. I refuse to believe after all these years that someone wants to love me. How could a friend act like a family that I've never had? I kick and scream until I can no more. No matter what I do, I am still loved. I let myself give up. I let the loving feeling enter me and I felt healed, over and over. It was overwhelming. I cried many times. This is all I ever wanted. Loved for what I felt, thought, and believed in. For being myself.
I wasn't loved for my money, fame or status, or from the temporary pleasures of dopamine. I felt loved for just existing as myself: someone who cannot work a normal job, who cannot speak properly with people, who cannot forfeit emotions, and many other things I thought for a long time were flaws that made me a worthless person. But most of all, I felt loved for being a person who isn't ready for adulthood. That's it. That's me.
The only thing I have left to do is to simply be myself. To be young at heart. Only then will it be healed.
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02 Mar 2024 04:15 CET
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