I didn’t want to feel it. Like, I really, really, did not want to feel it. I couldn’t bear the thought of even slightly feeling that you didn’t and couldn’t love me.
And so I stuffed it, I stuffed it down hard. I was a child, a child who couldn’t understand why you couldn’t and didn’t love me and who felt her very existence could be obliterated if she allowed herself to feel that you did not and could not love me. Fast forward 10 years and you had an adult girl who had not allowed herself to feel those feelings or any feelings that felt “bad.”
