Awake in the night. Awake with my pain. Pain of loss. Pain of mistakes. Pain of rejection. Pain of knowing that I am not lovable due to an illness. An illness I can never be cured of.
Many have started to love, only to find it too hard. Finally realizing the illness is too much. Drawing the conclusion that to hold and love me is just not something they’re willing to do.
Oh, they say things such as, “you only need someone to be gentle with you.” Then just days later they say loving someone who is mentally ill is something they refuse to do. I am confused. Is that gentle? I do not understand. I never lied about who or what I am. “Why did they ever try?” My heart cries out! “I did not reach for you. You sought me. Yet now you deny and reject me.”
As I sit alone in the Dark emptiness I realize my sickness makes me unworthy of love, and that to try is an effort in futility. I accept this. I close that door. I try no longer. I am simply meant to go onward alone.