A letter to myself

Hello love,

I know how you feel right now.

I see you in the mirror and I know you don’t see the woman that I see, standing before me. You see imperfection. And you see unhappiness. you see eyes that don’t crease at the same angle, you see a nose that’s too short, and one crooked tooth that’s yellower than the rest. You notice the dark outer line on your lips and think your round face is too round to be called pretty – so why would anyone want you? When there are prettier women all around?

Why would you be noticed when you have no talent, no skill? You have a decent job. But you aren’t a pro at it. You at best are slightly better than mediocre. That’s what you see in the mirror.

You see loneliness and you fear it so much it even haunts your dreams- your dreams always involve of searching for someone to love, someone who would love you back. I know all the times you’ve managed to bite your tongue today to stop yourself from screaming, I know the moments you jerked your brain to stop judging someone else or some situation. I know the pain in your heart – when you think you’ll rip open all the raw scars only to let the wounds half heal themselves. You are too repetitive in your ways to deal with this pain…

You. In clothes that aren’t your size because you’re in between sizes – that is another struggle – When you enter the office, or walk through the bazar or on the pavement …you imagine 20 pair of eyes on yourself – you fight the anxiety – you gulp down the knot that builds in the back of your throat – trying not to succumb to the anxiety – to not feel out of place.

To you, belonging means everything. So even in places where you are wanted – you want all the attention , you want it without asking. You crave it and you crave nearness in ways that are hard for other people to understand.

You want there to be no room for air with the one you want – you need the other person to consume your thoughts with their own mind and quiet down the voices wrecking havoc inside. You want them to feel your insecurities and to fight them away with assurances, to be your hero even though you don’t approve of asking for help – yet your heart and your brain beg to be cared for – most of all you want your heart to be held and shielded from your own mind – shielded with warmth and love that isn’t just physical but has an echo, an afterglow, a loving care that leaves the brain happily numb.

A love like this and the desire to be cared for a certain way won’t ever leave – and knowing you might never be loved like this tears at your heart even more. But there’s something that keeps you hoping – keeps you going, moving on, (anyone would hardly call your steps forward graceful), but you are moving – you’re going to try to make it to the next day – a loveless day you think, but at the same time feeling slightly lesser hatred for your own self.


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