Masters of Destruction
Confession.
There was a time when I wanted let go, but didn’t. To trust, to get lost in his love. But a part of me feared the part of him that wouldn’t choose me daily like I chose him. So before I allowed him the space to show me what’s good, I had already mentally planted a seed of the bad.
I fussed.
I nagged.
I questioned.
The type of crazy shit that had him second guessing if he made the right decision, or if I was just another average chick looking for attention.
Subconsciously I pushed him away. Insecurities had me seeking his validation. Addicted to his compliments, I went through withdrawal whenever it seemed he was short on them. And as a consequence we lost so much time getting stuck in the shallow end of our relationship instead of diving deeper into one another. Dysfunctional lovers.
Mistakes of irrelevant persons from the past disrupted future possibilities. Stillbirth—the love was dead upon arrival. Drowned in a sea of doubt, there was little chance for its survival.
Broken women break things before they’re built.
Masters of destruction, we’ll create problems and place blame when significant others don’t produce a solution. Self-sabotage at its finest, we’re our own worst enemies. Putting unfair expectations on our partners as if they’re supposed to be our healers, when they just want to love the depths of you. To taste and embrace the parts of you that have yet to be touched. And if they really dig you, they want to do more than just dig into you. They’ll weed out the possibility that another will come in and grab your attention.
It wasn’t up to him to be my physician. He wasn’t responsible for making me whole. And while his actions could’ve helped to bring ease, I had to realize that when you’re a woman of substance, there’s no seat at the table for competition, and rest easy knowing that even if he chose another, the essence of who I am is irreplaceable.
