It gets a little easier. Through time. Through a constant reminder to myself of delineating what’s created in my head and what’s actually there. With infatuation, it’s easy to hear things the way we want to hear them. I would give so much meaning to words that were said especially coming from someone so eloquent. I already know how vulnerable I am as a person. How quick I am to attach to something, even if it’s not real. I chalk a part of that up to my abandonment issues. Maybe it’s also innately my character.
I can write for hours about how I had a biological dad who didn’t want me. I could re hash the time my nanny who I loved so much left when I was 6 and I was just told she was going on a vacation. She never came back. As I write this even now, I feel remnants of before. I miss her still. Then I could write about my years living in a home where things were unstable, life and death at one point. But ultimately, I came through okay. I came through just fine because the love my mom had for my brother and I, as neurotic as she can be, was the underlying foundation of who I am.
My mom must have been around my age now when this was taken.