This post is for those who, like me, are up at one in the morning drunk off of thoughts.
This post is for those who have lost themselves irreparably amongst the wreckage of trying to find themselves.
This post is for you, and anyone who has tried to love you, because you and they both will know how difficult it is to love someone who does not love themselves.
We are the ones addicted to your existence, because we cannot find worth in our own. Loving you is a scrapbook. We envy every second. moment, memory that you spent without us, even if you didn’t know us yet. We do this because we revel in your existence, and it’s painful to think someone made memories with you that we are not a part of. It is not your fault, we just shy away from memories of our own, so your floppy skater boy hair and awkward stage we were absent for means the world to us, even though it is not ours.
We will hang on every detail of your first loves, your last loves, your demons, and make them our own. We might claim to know you better than we do. Sorry. But being lost in a sea of self-doubt can only lead to grabbing onto the closest thing afloat. Sometimes, your stories and your pain are a life raft from our own misgivings, so we adopt them.
We are vastly loyal, but you’d never see it. Behind withdrawn tantrums and angry outbursts, we adore those we surround ourselves with, but have a natural proclivity for pushing them away. The issue with not seeing your own worth is that you’re not sure why anyone else would either. But to those who stick with us, we never truly leave their side.
You can tell us we’re beautiful, stunning, fantastic. You can bathe us in compliments and paint us with love to our core. But just might never see ourselves the way you see us. This doesn’t mean we don’t hear you.
Our emotions might be outlandish. We struggle with reacting too much, or not reacting at all. Every emotion is a learning process, a baby step. We are stuck somewhere between wanting desperately to blend in, and wanting desperately to be seen. To be heard. To be helped. Other times, we’d rather blend in and be forgotten entirely.
We’ve created masks, and we wear them well. We have days we look in the mirror and we’re okay, and days we’d be elated to never see another mirror again.
We are broken, we are beautiful. We are women and men. We are masters of disguise, hopeless romantics, psychotic breaks, and 3 am phone calls.
We think we’re alone, but we aren’t.
Amongst the millions of other lost souls in masks we wander, wondering if they can see us, hoping they don’t, praying they might. Each mind carries a burden they think no other mind can bear. And some can’t. Unfortunately, those seem to be the minds we encounter most. Those who see our darkness and flee from it, worrying it will unmask their own.
But occasionally there is a light. A steadfast pillar to lean on in times of need. The one person who never gave up on you.
This post is for the wanderers, the scared, and the emotionally infantile. You are not alone. Now that I’ve let you see me, I hope you let me see you.