April 8th 2021
Romance movies have it all wrong. Love doesn’t fix anything.
It’s not a cure for anyone’s faults, nor does it make someone treat you with respect.
Love isn’t constant or unconditional, or forgiving.
Not from men anyway. Love blinds you, makes you accept flaws, and buries your selfish needs on how you wish to be treated.
Love was the worst four-letter word anyone could use, in my opinion. Insults were easy to overlook, but love, that’s what could break someone down until they didn’t recognize themselves anymore.
The girl in the mirror wasn’t me. Her eyes were sunken, cheeks hollowed out, skin patchy. Daily showers and cleanliness routines did little to bring any life to her appearance. She looked like she was dying. Physically healthy, but slowly dying on the inside each day.
Craig was so hot and cold when it came to physical intimacy.
When I first shared with him that I couldn’t get pregnant after an infection I suffered from when I was younger, he was understanding.
Now his actions made me sick to my stomach.
At first, he used condoms; I preferred safe sex that way, as would most women, I suspected.
He’d stopped without asking my opinion. What was the big deal?
He’d yell, guilting me into giving in. I hated myself for caving in, for letting myself become so disgusted with what I was allowing to be done to me.
It was my body, so why did it feel like I wasn’t getting a choice in what was being done to it?