ON HOLD
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"What do you want to drink, angel?" He whispered in my ear as goosebumps rose all over my skin. I roll my eyes at him secretly adoring the nickname he's chosen for me.
"Haven't I told you, Harry, that's not my name?" He gives me a genuin...
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Anxiety; the thief of joy.
It cripples you from the inside out, ripping away the things you care for the most.
You're scared of losing them because you know eventually, you'll push them away. It will be all my fault, I'll have lost the thing I needed the most.
I can't explain why I'm doubting everything. It's genuinely not him, it's me. It's my fucked up brain.
I moved too fast expecting everything to be okay. I was never going to be okay, never enough, and never better.
I don't deserve him, I deserve nothing.
At least that's what my mother's been telling me. For once in my life, I was wishing she didn't hate me. I had made myself numb to the hate, I was okay with what she did. I didn't care.
Lately, I've been feeling more, my emotions aren't buried deep inside of me anymore. I catch myself wondering if I could've done something different to make her love me.
But then I think to myself why would I want such a horrible person who's incapable of compassion to love me?
I keep telling myself that I'm better, I'm healing and my life is headed somewhere. But there's always that little voice in my head ready to back it up with doubt.
Ready to tell me all my imperfections and flaws, to tell me how I am nothing and don't deserve to be where I am.
"You're such a disappointment!"
Fuck, I must be hearing things again.
"Angela, are you listening to me?" Sadly I realized where I was and it wasn't the voices in my head.
Harry, Liam, and I had driven up to my mother's house for my birthday today. I didn't want to come but for some reason no matter how much I despise the woman I can never say no.
That's what I like to call trauma.
The whole ride here I was either tapping my fingers on my knee or bouncing my leg against the floorboard. I couldn't sit still for the life of me, it's incredible the amount of anxiety someone can cause you when they're not even directly in your life.
I swear the woman could be on the other side of the world and I'd still be there for her on the weekends if she asked.
For someone who hated me so damn much, I sure cared a lot about pleasing her. Maybe I was delusional to think one day I'd amount to her perfect image of me.
It would be the death of me.
It's hard to hate her, she's my mother. She may treat me like garbage but she's the one person on earth who was always meant to love me.
"I'm listening mother, I'm just tired. I didn't sleep well last night." Yeah because I was freaking the fuck out about coming here and being shit talked all day.
