My anxiety gets progressively worse and you become progressively ignorant of it. Where once the occasional crying episode – balled up on the smooth wooden floorboards of Elgin St – called for undivided attention and patience; now night after night of crying myself to sleep receives only silence.
I find myself thinking that had this been anyone else beside me, they would have given me at least some of the love I so longed for. I found myself wishing I could perhaps have been wrapped in the platonic warmth of a colleague’s big arms, or at the very least playing Xbox with him until the early hours. I know from looking into his eyes he never would have let me feel as unloved as I did.
Kindred spirits.
The second only to you to ask about my scars and accept the answer of ‘climbing trees’ as a teenager and understand the subtext without a teaspoon of judgement.
Pain is binding, when you can find a reflection of your own in another person. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to Number 3.