When it Wasn’t Love

A desperate escape from what should have been home. Aged just eighteen, I thought of myself as an adult, grown up. I had to run, put an end to all the years of abuse and neglect I’d suffered at the hands of others.

But I was wrong. It didn’t matter how far I ran, what distance I put between myself and the people who’d hurt me. I had naively thought all the emotional baggage would be left behind with all the belongings I wasn’t able to take with me.

I thought my own attempts at love would help to heal my heart and past traumas. I wanted nothing more than to feel good enough. To be loved, and to be able to give love in return.

But love is never that simple. Not for anyone.

Being independent and free came at a heavy price. I was far too ill-prepared to deal with such things. And to fully understand when it wasn’t love.