My whole life, I’ve been on a quest to find love. True love. You know, the kind of love you read in fairy tales.
I was in love with love, but unfortunately, love didn’t love me.
Whenever a relationship ended, I’d get deeply hurt and broken inside, and I’d feel such darkness, self-hatred, and shame.
I’d have thoughts like, “If only you were prettier, smarter and thinner, this wouldn’t have happened. Why are you so ugly? Why can’t you be someone else?’ Being alone in my room was the feeding ground for all of these dark and destructive thoughts.
In my early twenties, when I thought of “love”, the word “complete” would always follow. Romance movies had led me to believe I wasn’t complete if I wasn’t in a relationship.
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