It was my inability to let go. My need to prove something. I don’t know what. That I was worthy? That I was lovable? That I was innocent? That I didn’t ask for it? That it wasn’t my fault? That I was a child?
It was my own self doubt and self inflected loathing that made me continue to seek you out. It was me, not you, seeking answers to questions I didn’t know I had. It was my need to convince myself that you didn’t make the decisions you made.
No matter how ugly it got, I still stayed. I could plainly see how dysfunctional it was, yet I stayed. Until I had given everything I had to give. Until there was nothing left for me to offer. No part of me undamaged, unscathed, uncut.
It was me, not you, who had to let go. Let go completely. With all my heart and soul. Released from myself.
I have never been more comfortable in my own skin. More at peace with my soul. More accepting of my hearts wishes and desires. More in touch with my family.
It was me, not you.