Fucking Idiot

Hey me, You say you’re self aware like that’s a virtue, like naming the wound means you stopped bleeding. You didn’t. You just learned the vocabulary to decorate it. You call it attachment wounds because it sounds gentler than I still hand people the knife and act surprised when they cut me. You say, “I know what’s real and what’s my trauma,” and then you let the trauma drive anyway because at least it feels like movement. You don’t miss them, you miss how alive you felt when someone reflected you back to yourself like a mirror that smiled. You say you want to be chosen, but you keep choosing people who make you audition for oxygen. You overgive, then resent them. You say you’re afraid of being abandoned, but you abandon yourself first every time you shrink your needs to seem easier to love. You say you’re tired of being alone, but you don’t know what to do when no one is pulling on you, when your nervous system isn’t lit up like a house on fire. You keep asking, “Am I too much?” when the real question is why you keep offering yourself to people who can only hold you in pieces. You don’t need to be fixed. You need to stop negotiating your worth to people who clearly do not give a damn. And yeah... you’ve survived worse than this. But survival isn’t the flex you think it is if you keep rebuilding the same cage and calling it love. You fucking idiot.