“nobody will love you until you love yourself.”
that seemed true to me for a very long time; i hated myself, and so did everyone else, i believed. i was in a black pit. even the people who called me a friend were secretly hiding hatred, i knew it. after all, inside of me was a deepening maw, a chasm no love could cross.
i ruined everything i touched. the first person who loved me was terrified of the black hiding behind my eyes. she said once it was like two spirits lived in my body the bright she loved and a terrible powerful darkness she didn’t know the name of.
she didn’t love me, right? she was only in love with the light. i was a good trickster, a talented liar; conned people into being my friend even when i danced the edge of death.
here is a story told to me: one sad boy finds a dog on the side of the road, takes him to the vet. doesn’t have the money for it, but he helps the dog and the dog’s three legs. this kid goes into debt for a dog. because the dog needed help and there was nobody else around to offer it.
here is a story told to me: a girl in the library finds that little kids love hearing her voice tell stories. she wears long sleeves to her thursday fairytale meetings, and they call her a princess. at school she hunches her shoulders and keeps her head down. here, she sits tall and makes faces and brings the house down.
here is a story told to me: a teen is sleeping on the couch of their best friend ever since the word “trans” came up in an argument. they don’t know how to pay back the kindness so every morning they make coffee and when they finally get together five dollars in change they spend it to make a cake for the family.
nobody will love you; you’re useless like this; you’re a big aching mess. nobody ever loves a burden, nobody could love this.
here is the end of the story: they are a rage of bitter nights and ready to step over a ledge even though they fear the flying. this is when a friend comes in with nothing but a blanket, a box, and a half-eaten bag of cheetos. inside the box lies a supply of hormones. when a very small friend who just wants to make a difference shows it’s possible to have your cake and eat it too.
here is the end of the story: the girl is devoured by thin. she lies in a hospital bed and pictures only blankness. this is when a card shows up, hand drawn with sixteen crayon signatures all saying “i love you” in terrible spelling. when a group of very small children who owe her magic give her it back.
here is the end of the story: the boy is sitting in bed weeping, hand on a razor, thinking about the ending, when a dog nuzzles open his door and starts whining. when a very small wounded dog with three legs and everything to owe and only love comes into the picture.
we find our way to love only by the paths that others have woven for us. we light a candle with another person’s gentle flame. we guide ourselves out of the holes through the ropes of other people. we learn to love ourselves because other people do.
here is the better part: the stories are of survival, and they are all true.
here is the best part: one day these stories will be about you.
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
2087
