There's a certain amount of shame that goes with admitting hard truths.
Trust me when I tell you that there are more times than not in this life of mine where I've been tortured by who I am, scrutinizing the fatal flaws that I can list like a letter to Santa Claus.
Long ago my sister told me that our mother would say horrible things to me; the worst things you can say to someone really, all the worse because I wasn't more than seven. My sister was the memory keeper, the one I could turn to when I needed to walk through reverie. My saving grace during those years when my parents were still married was my ability to eradicate my childhood memories so that only vague, very hazy snapshots remain.
Those messages from my mother, the one person who would know whether I was good or not, believed I wasn't. Even though I don't actually remember hearing them, they are imprinted. There are labels in families that are hard to out grow and then there are the labels you attach to yourself from all of those experiences; the layers sealed in place a long time ago.
I'm not a believer in 'everything happens for a reason' because bad shit happens for no reason at all. Yes there are good things that come from the bad, it's true. For me, it's the understanding that I don't need to draw any more negative thoughts, feelings or ideas into my life. I need people that walk by my side shoulder to shoulder. Without competition or judgement; accepting me as I am, knowing that I accept you too.
I have always been good in my own company. Nowadays I sit with feelings of loneliness and I'm trying to teach myself to be comfortable in that space. It's not easy. Most days I'm in 'fake it until you make it mode', but that's because this seems to be the best option. The belief that putting one foot in front of the other makes shit happen.
