My mom told me I was a very sensitive child growing up.
I practiced the art of soothing like some kids practiced soccer. She told me recently about the times she used to walk past my room and watch me as I rocked a swaddled baby doll against my chest, whispering "everything's okay. Mommy's here" next to its plastic face, singing snippets of "you are my sunshine." She said this happened often. That I played at a broad range of soothing and conflict resolution...consoling the disappointed hopes of my Alf doll or issuing time-outs and honesty circles in the small school for stuffed animals that I ran out of my parent's gardening shed.
Maybe I was playing at soothing others so much because I was desperately trying to figure out how to soothe myself. How to mediate my own emotions.
Even now, at 24, I have no idea.
Me heart has been in a million pieces for months now, and I don't know the words to fix that for myself. I don't know how to comfort my mind; how to be good to myself; how to know that everything is going to be alright.
Maybe there's no consoling this kind of loss.
You were the beautiful thought that my heart woke up to.
I feel dangerously close to believing that I will never know that feeling again.
I need a blanket. I need a song and a back rub and someone to wait with me until I fall asleep. I need to feel like I'm home somewhere.
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