little lady love

Lately I’ve been trying to define my own meaning of life. So far, all I’ve come up with is connection.

As a child, I yearned for people to see me. I bent and broke myself to fit a mould I thought would be liked by other people. Outside, I had a cool facade but truthfully I don’t think people realised how easy it was to make me up into their dream person. Once I liked someone, I was incredibly easy to manipulate. Give me one ounce of feeling useful and I’ll be at your beckoning call until the day I die. I don’t know how I ever believed these relationships were genuine.

I spent so much of my childhood alone and I feel overwhelmingly tender when I see photographs of my younger self. I feel as though I can pinpoint the exact moment life began to leave my eyes. Everything became so tiresome. I went from knowing myself so intimately to not being able to recognise myself in the mirror. I saw myself split into two different people. The world made me feel so small so I squashed this small child down and assumed she didn’t still live inside me. She is all I have ever been and would become.

At a time where I should be embracing independence, I’ve never wanted to be weaker. I want someone to take care of me. I want someone to brush my hair, get me a glass of water. Learn every crevice of my body and warm my hands when they’re cold. I want my tears to be wiped away without a moment’s hesitance. I wish I didn’t have to be strong so young. When will someone come into my room and tuck me in?

I’m terrified of my mind and become paralysed at the thought of allowing anyone to see its ugliness. Someone can criticise me and suddenly I’m 9 years old again thinking of what aspect of myself I need to change in order to gain their approval again. I recall seeing a movie with some friends for their birthday when I was a child and I begged them to change me to be more like them. I waxed lyrical about how I wanted to be normal. Naturally, they looked at me with severe confusion and I wanted to shake them. They all explained how they couldn’t do that and so I became convinced I was a lost cause. I’ve always thought I needed complex language to convey what I meant but it’s simply that I wanted to feel chosen. I wanted another person to look at my mess and help me tidy it up.

I am proud of how far I’ve come with what I know, and when I look back on my smaller self, I am grateful for all she pushed through when she shouldn’t have had to. If no one else will learn the creases in her palms, then I will. I will study every inch of her to ensure she is not forgotten. I am indebted to her for all of my great moments to come.

Sometimes, I feel ready to give up on connection altogether.

And then I laugh with a friend and it all seems worth it again.