Long, long ago there was a young girl named Tracey. She was very naive and she still believed in love. She met a man. He was a hustler. This was long before drugs. Long before the Tenderloin. This was naive Midwest love where it is supposed to have a happy ending to the story.
This man claimed to love me. I let him into my being. I absorbed him. He conned his way into my life, my heart. He promised me I was the one. Instead, I was one of many. Most of all, he made me question my confidence in myself. He told me I was fat, I was stupid, I was never going to be shit, I was never going to do shit, and I was nothing with out him. Then he promised he loved me. He got my name tattooed on his neck. Then he fucked my best friend. Yeah. Ouch.
I had a mild nervous breakdown after this relationship ended at 20. The drugs started within a few weeks. I was nothing, nothing without him. Or so I thought for many years. My ego is much, much stronger now. But I still want YOU to love me. I still want you to understand me. Why her- why not me- what the fuck is wrong with me. I am over those questions. Your praise is important to me now. You deserve me. You love me.
I'm writing my story. I digging into these painful details. I am not listening you right now. My inner critic (my outer ones too) can fuck off for the time being while I live my life. I Iove myself today. I accept myself. I am tuning you out.