Sometimes it can feel like there are no soft places. We are so used to the fight that the soft places are threatening. We are so stuck in the loop of trauma and suffering that anything that looks like love, easy love, is a fucking threat. So what do we do when our dumb luck lands us in love and feeling safe. Oh. You know. We do what every other normal person does... we build bombs. We sift through emails. We analyze and over analyze. We convince ourselves that maybe the grass is greener somewhere else. We nitpick. We hyper-focus. We withdraw in order to confirm if the person will or won't chase us... because you know we want them to chase us. If they do chase us, though, we feel suffocated. It was never really about the love or the security or the proof. It was about those fucking empty holes that we continue to avoid filling with anything substantial. Love is the trigger. It always was and always will be. When things get too beautiful and safe and steady I find myself vibrating with anxiety. I am a Black women. I have been conditioned to believe that I deserve nothing but the fight, nothing but being left behind, and nothing but what is leftover in life. I'm trying to find the words to communicate this painful and sick cycle of working to earn love that I never believed I deserved in the first place. We can't continue to be drawn to those who never want to show up for our love in the first place. We can't continue to affirm our feelings of worthlessness through folks who use us until all the glitter is gone. I don't have any answers tonight. Just the raw realization that too many of us are suffering and too many of us are far too comfortable with settling with less than we deserve because it aligns with the abuse we know all too well.
We build the bombs and detonate them because we've only learned how to pick up the pieces.