PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Today's Document
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@littlepolymolly
That feeling I get when I know I’ll see my person the next day.
The woman who sees my soul.
Being around her is my emotional exhale. She helps to center me. She makes me feel loved and safe.
Seeing her is like Christmas every time.
Beth and Phillip came into my bedroom to say goodnight. They rarely come in together so it felt like a real treat.
Beth held my hand while Phillip stroked my hair.
“This is happiness,” I said.
“No, this is love,” Beth responded gently.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because, happiness you can take home with you. This right here, this is love.”
My mother is a narcissist.
I’ve been no-contact for eight years but was recently forced into contact due to a family emergency.
I need help getting back to where I was before I made contact with her again.
I’m an adult daughter of a narcissist.
“You’re a good person, Molly,” he whispered in my ear as his hands gently stroked my hair and face.
He was so close I could feel the warmth of his mouth on my forehead, and I inhaled deeply to drown myself in his scent. I could smell every part of him- his breath, his skin, his sweat, his pheromones.
“You’re intelligent, beautiful, and you’re kind. You take care of others. You’re such a good person.”
His arms hugged me closer, and I shut my eyes to savor the moment. In those arms I am home.
“But I was slowly learning to pluck the flowers of my past from the weeds and place them in the window of my mind where I could see them first.”
- Call Me Tuesday
“Wherever she was, love presided. She was not one to openly display affection, except for a hug here and there, but her love had a gentle constancy I could feel.”
- Call Me Tuesday
A child raised by an abusive parent doesn’t stop loving their parent.
They stop loving themselves.
I had to figure out if I was an empath or a traumatized kid who learned to anticipate and decipher other's feelings and needs in order to survive.
I'm both.
“she is splashes of color in my shades of grey
and i know she’s not leaving so i don’t ask her
to stay”
drunk-on-writing
“The only way to get to the other side is to go through the middle.”
- Beth
“Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive”
— Josephine Hart
She was making dinner for my birthday- pineapple fried rice, one of my favorite meals.
In between cutting up the pineapple she casually reached across the counter to hand me a piece.
That was something I wish my mother had done. I don’t have any memories with her that were casual- sitting, cooking dinner, nonchalantly handing me a piece of fruit because she knew I’d love it.
I love Beth, and I will focus on that. She makes me feel like I’m loved. Like I wish my mother made me feel.
I fell in love with her soul before I ever touched her skin.
“Can I please have strawberry cupcakes for my birthday?”
Beth: “Of course!”
Phillip: “Don’t even worry about it. You can have whatever you want. What else do you want?”
My eyes got wide and they chuckled. Even after these four years together, I’m still surprised at their generosity and love for me. I still don’t feel worthy. But they make me feel the closest thing to worthwhile that I can imagine.
“It’s nice to know that you’re mine.”
She said that to me once, a long time ago.
I wish she would say it again.
Not sexually. Not romantically.
But that I’m her’s because my safe place is where she is.
It would be nice to know that I’m her’s.
Maybe I’ll kill myself while I’m in little space.
Then I’ll die happy, without a care.
I’ll die Little, right where I belong.
Every time I close my eyes to sleep I feel their eyes on my body, their hands inside me.
I want to die.