Someone told me today that I don’t let people love me.
I don’t know if they’re right. They probably are. I mean, it’s not like they’re the first person I’ve had mention it to me.
I keep my heart right where it’s supposed to be: wrapped in my rib cage, buried beneath blood and skin. I don’t wear it on my sleeve.
I get that they were trying to help me. I understand that. It just… it just made me feel like… I don’t know… Like everything is my fault. Like if I could just get my act together, I wouldn’t be sad. And I wouldn’t be lonely. And maybe it is my fault.
I don’t mean to, you know? I want people to love me. I just… I don’t trust that they will. And, because of that, I want them to actually show that they do love me. Is that… is that too much to ask?
It’s just hard. I mean, I do a lot of little things for other people. I care deeply for others. I go out of my way and sacrifice for others. I take care of others.
People just… well, they don’t often do that for me.
Maybe I’ll always be in pain because of that. Because I care too much so I expect that from others. I don’t feel like it’s expecting too much. Because I don’t do extravagant things. I just… I want people to see me. To remember me. To notice me. To go out of their way for me.
I don’t know if I appreciate it when they do though.
I don’t mean to be unlovable. I really don’t.