I hurt myself

I was reading some of the parts of the book I just published. It is one that I wrote months ago with Daddy in mind.

Sometimes I hurt myself with it. I have been reading the fantasy of him I created but also listening to the real him in messages he left me before.

Combining those two things is rough. Part of the problem is something I wrote about in the book:

“Do you want the whole truth or just the pieces that feel good in the dark, the pieces that will fit into the fantasy you have created of me and Us?”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. He hit deep with that last part. I did want him to fill in the gaps of my imagination but was it to create that fantasy or was it to quiet my overthinking brain and get to know the real version of him, not just the pieces he wanted me to see that fit this connection we had started in such an unconventional way.

“I want you. All of you. Even the sharp edges.”

I can create a fantasy and pull in those pieces of him that fit the narrative that I want. The narrative isn’t always the happily ever after, though. It is like the point of mythology, where you create stories to explain the world around you. That is what my mind does. It wants to explain behaviors and dig into someone’s mind, especially when they do nothing to share it with me.

Heartbreak is never done quickly or in a straight line.