i keep thinking about it.
the people who love me most are the people i hurt the most.
because i do. i take for granted the love. the support. the affection and attention. i choose to mis-interpret, to build dramas founded on whimsical thoughts.
to be honest:
i think i am a shitty friend (and daughter. and occasional lover).
i think i tarnished a lot of relationships because i tested people. i tested their capacity to love me. i asked for love without ever actually asking for it. and i always got it. overwhelming amounts of the stuff. i got love so deep i got scared.
i distrusted the relationships i held with people because i never thought beautiful, honest, forgiving, loving relationships existed for me. i thought they might go away. that they were conditional. that i needed to be someone else first. because of lessons learned in horrible, no good relationships. consequently, i’ve strained relationships where nothing but love ever existed. i was the only suspicious one. i tested the boundaries of my friendships to test the extent of other’s love for me.
for that i am regretful.
for that i am embarrassed.
for that i am apologetic.
i know now:
love exists for me.
real, unconditional love.
and, you know, it’s okay for me to take it.
it’s okay for me to express my love for others, to not always expect some back. it doesn’t mean i am any less seen, any less loved. no one is out to get me. i can drop my suspicions. i can trust. i can believe in the relationships in my life. i can believe in myself.
enough to end the silent investigations.
enough to be content with what was shared if a relationship fades.
enough to soften, to accept what is without over thinking.
enough to simply be.