I've begun the process of documenting my thoughts and feelings on a daily basis, hoping that by reflecting on my emotions, I might find some clarity or understanding. However, as I write down my experiences, I can't help but notice that the emotion which emerges most consistently is one of profound hurt. It's a heavy weight that lingers with me, casting a shadow over my daily life and interactions.
One of my deepest desires has always been to find love—a genuine, unconditional love that feels just out of reach. It's an ache that resonates within me, suggesting that I am somehow unworthy or that love is something meant for others, but not for me.
Even though I have Natasha in my life, who professes her love for me, I often find it challenging to fully embrace that affection. How could I possibly believe in her love when I have experienced the absence of love from those who should have cared for me the most—my own parents? The wounds from that lack of parental love run deep, creating a barrier that makes it difficult for me to accept love from others. It's a confusing mix of longing and disbelief, where I yearn for connection yet find myself clinging to the hurt that has become a familiar companion.
In essence, my journey of writing is a search for solace amidst the ongoing struggle with these emotions, particularly the hurt that seems to define so much of my life. It's an attempt to reconcile the love I receive with the love I felt I never had. I hope that by putting my thoughts to paper, I might eventually find a way to heal and redefine what love means to me.