Sitting down and taking stock of what’s in your head is not easy or pleasant, not to most of us.
Almost as though I have sentenced myself to a trial of sorts I need to take a long hard look at my life and what’s happening, what’s happened, and decide what it means. That, however, is not nearly as important as deciding who I am, because that seems to be something that I’ve so far been unable to determine for myself.
For those of us who were brought up being told what we were and trusted those who did it blindly, failed to learn how to make our own way in life. We latch onto the strong personality of another or others early in our adult life and allow ourselves, yet again, to be led around like witless horses.
As fate will have it, it’s not often we end up in good hands. More often than not our new master is the kind who will build us up with flatter and attention in the beginning only to tear us down in the vilest ways once they have us in their firm grasp. They don’t let go willingly even though they’re holding on so tightly we can barely breathe.
When we break free we’re even more incapable of determining who we are for ourselves.
We may try our hardest to rebuild what we never had but how can we? We were never given the plans and have not been shown how to use the tools one need to build something as grand as that. Some of us are lost along the way. Others persist in being the same and getting the same results. A few wake up with the knowing that there’s really something better and all that they thought was true is nothing but lies and deception – they’re the ones who begin to live.
Others become so strong that they don’t need anyone’s help and they may even be admired by others because of it. Yet, their souls and hearts ache for the kind of love and trust you can only really feel when you are in the safe care of a loving parent as a child. We look for it in others but more often than not, we end up with people who are just as damaged as us or even more so. We become their rocks in the stormy sea of life and they cling to us for grim death, and they cling to us so tightly we can barely breathe.
We long for freedom and love. We feel frustrated and angry. We feel that life in unfair. We ache with hope, the kind of hope that consumes every waking moment and even our dreams. We become fearful that if we let go of the hope, even if it hurts entertaining it, we will cease to exist and no one will ever know we existed. Everything will have been in vain. All our suffering will lack meaning and will have served no purpose. Nothing causes more grief than that the very thought that the bad things in your life have no meaning or reason. Nothing disturbs us more.
The one thing we never learned is the one thing that we keep chasing simply because we instinctively know that it exists: the kind of love that permeates your whole being, the kind of love that leaves no doubt that your creator loves you and will continue to love you no matter what you do or what you become, and that despite it all you are good, good enough to be loved by one and all.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I will never know the feeling of being loved. I’m afraid that I will never learn to love myself.
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