I spent the summer searching for clarity in dimly lit bedrooms and conversations dripping in lust.
There have been times where I have hated myself so much that I felt the only solution was to give myself away.
A meaningless night here. A feelingless kiss there.
I felt more like an audience member than an active participant in my own life.
I could see myself slipping into the shadows of self-doubt and loathing more and more with every night spent next to a filler lover in my bed.
I call them filler lovers because that’s exactly what they did.
They filled the silent spaces that I couldn’t bear to face with the sounds of hollow laughs and fake orgasms.
They filled the space in my bed that otherwise felt cold and lonely.
Nights alone were unbearable, allowing room for my thoughts to whisper me to sleep with words of anxiety and self-deprecation.
Nights with lovers were worse.
Those nights I’d stare at my wall with my back turned to them, wondering why the sound of their breathing made me feel lonelier than the silence.
Summer nights filled with lovers but no love left me as tumultuous as the waves I watched wreak havoc on the shore.
An act of self-hatred is knowing what you want but not allowing yourself to have it because you feel you don’t deserve it.
If there is one thing I learned this summer it’s that filling your life with people and things just to fill some kind of void within yourself does nothing but make that inner ache stronger. Nothing will ever change until you find the courage to meet yourself where you are and face the things holding you back.
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