You know when you’re such a mess, in acute despair and so hopeless that you’re crumbling in front of your own eyes? Sometimes the only thing that helps is a good, proper healing hug from a close friend. One of those hugs that says “I love you…no matter what”.
There is nothing quite like it to make you just feel ‘held’, like their embrace is both armour against the troubles and permission to admit how afraid you are. A flowing of understanding when you can’t find the words.
Of course, the guilt of being so undeserving of this love – especially when others aren’t as blessed as I – soon rears its ugly head. Why is so much wasted on such a pathetic creature as me? Can’t they all see the terrible demon I am inside? Shouldn’t I protect them from this, from me?
But then, if I screw my brain up really tight, reaching in to dark, unfamiliar recesses that I don’t allow myself the luxury of accessing often…that memory of the hugs and the love that they conveyed come back.
Maybe I’m not in this alone?*
*if I can overcome my need to sacrifice myself at all costs. If I can try to believe that this love isn’t of my imagining or from obligation. If I can somehow believe that people can love me just for…well…being me. And a very unwell me at that. Those ‘ifs’ are all standing steadfast and strong for now, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to chip away at them at least to let the light in a little…that’s what I’m trying to do here.