Just read this please. Be kind to yourself and read this.
Sometimes I look at the scattered marbles strewn across my mind and think to myself, “Who could love something so disassembled, something so broken?”
In this society, we are taught that the worst thing for a lover to be is “crazy,” and that being “crazy” makes us deserving of our loneliness and our longing.
To be “crazy” is to be unworthy, to be unwanted.
Confession: Sometimes I want to run away. Sometimes, even after getting married and even after a thousand “I love you, I need you, I want you’s” – written, spoken, texted, felt – I fantasize about taking the train as far away as I can go, up the coast where no one can find me.
Sometimes in our desperation, we isolate ourselves, fearful of what it means to be seen, to be visible, to be known.
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