“You aren’t afraid of love. You’re afraid of all the junk you’ve yoked to love.”
Because I felt that I was being fed love when really I was being fed tracking devices and razor blades. I attached a bewildered, terrified, and damaging essence to a word I didn’t really understand at the time.
Learning, and then knowing, what was love and what was killing me was an important lesson that began taking place when I decided to acknowledge that my anxieties were memories stored underneath my skin.
So what did I yoke to love? The idea that I’m too broken for something so beautiful, that it’s something that only exists in a romantic sense, that it’s something some people get, but not me.
Unyoking these pieces of junk is an ongoing practice.
I will sever the toxicity that attached itself to the deranged sort of love I was offered (and so will you).