I’ve always felt a little too fucked up to be loved. If this sounds melodramatic, it’s because it is, but I am being sincere. I don’t know how I got so broken or where I adopted the idea that this mattered in regards to love, but the belief is pervasive, persistent, and ever so present. To me, I am simply screwed up beyond repair, a lost cause, and I better get used to being alone because this is just how it’s going to be.
Yep. Melodramatic for sure.
But it’s not like this belief is baseless. I have my reasons. I think about the people who’ve left, the way my thighs take up too much room on the couch, my utter lack of chill, my tendency to be defensive, my guilt complex, my impulsiveness, my knack for chasing people who do not want me because it aligns with my inner narrative that I am unlovable. Das me. Super, duper functional!!!
But I’m slowly starting to realize these parts of myself, the worst parts, the most frustrating and aggravating and jagged sections of my being do not make me ineligible for love. Because you know what?
We all fucked up. And if being perfect was a prerequisite for love, we’d all be alone.
These are pieces of myself I will probably have to work on my entire life to improve. And they also aren’t all I am. Because no matter how rough around the edges I am, how fractured I feel, how awkward and misplaced and too much I may be, I know I still deserve love.
(Plus, I’m working on these things, okay??? Let me live.)
So please believe me when I say that no matter how broken and torn apart you are, someone is going to love you anyway.
My heart is worn out. I’m tired. I’m a little too much and not enough all at once. I have a presence that teeters on catastrophic because sometimes I’m just so THERE I can’t help but knock into things and fall over. But I’m doing my best and while love hasn’t worked out in my favor, that doesn’t mean it never will.
If you feel the same way I do, if you feel as messed up and awkward and unsure, please understand you are not alone. I see you. I understand you. I feel you. And I know you are lovable.
After all, at least to me, perfection is boring. I’d rather spend time with the wild ones, the broken and messy people who are constantly trying their best and aren’t afraid to say they struggle. Who aren’t scared to show their humanity. Who aren’t afraid to stand up as many times as they fall down.
So tell people about your nightmares and own your quirks. Fall apart and together all at once. Laugh a little too loud and somewhere I’ll be laughing a little too loud, too.
But most importantly, please drill this sentiment into your pretty, little fucked up head:
You are never too broken for love. So let it in.