Maybe not
My need for reassurance is sometimes debilitating.
TW: Abuse
Maybe not
Maybe never
I could be right
Why would anyone care?
I’ve gone so long with no one caring that I assume anyone that seems to care must be lying
It takes everything, every single particle to not question and ask why?
Why would they want me?
Love me?
Care for me?
I’m not enough. I never will be.
These are the thoughts that come to mind in the silence.
My need for reassurance is sometimes debilitating. I won’t ask for it often. I won’t be that person.
I am not going to be needy and clingy and suffocate others with my needs.
I know some might be understanding. Others may find me unlikeable.
Leaving me to the wolves of anxious thoughts and feelings.
My mind can do devilish things, one minute I’ll be fine, the next I’ll be sobbing in my bed, unable to move, let alone go anywhere.
But I push myself, and make myself do the things that feel far to hard to do.
Loving myself should be enough, but old words, screamed insults, they infiltrate the happiness I’m trying to allow myself to feel.
He said I would never be loved or wanted by another.
She said I was a horrible child, ugly, fat, stupid. That I wouldn’t amount to much. She forced punishments on me that were undeserved.
His hands were the only things that left bruises, cuts and scars, his mouth did too, will my mind ever recover?
She was supposed to be a mother.
He was supposed to be someone who loved me.
Neither ever made it to their roles that they told others they were so good at in life.
I was told that families held secrets, and no one else should hear about what happens in the family.
He said that I was crazy and imagining things, that I was just like my mom.
Both conversations deluded me into thinking there was something wrong with me, not them.
But here I am, still healing. Trying to improve on the thoughts that run through my head. Some days are better than others.
Some days I need extra reassurance, I need a little more attention. Or some extra love. But I won’t ask for it. I’ll try, but then I’ll stop myself. Because I do not want to burden others with the torment I’ve endured every day of my life. From birth to 39 years old… I’ve never been enough.
So maybe I’m right. Maybe they’re right. I’m not enough. I’m too much. I’m crazy. I imagine things. I’m not good enough, I won’t amount to much. The love in this world, I don’t deserve it.
The lost thoughts of a survivor of a lifetime of abuse.
