Do you really know me?

Her name was Keissa, and she was born in January, during a time when the world was still wrapped in the cold embrace of winter, just on the cusp of spring. She grew up existing without the presence of her father, a shadowed figure who had left before she could remember, leaving behind a quiet ache that never quite went away.
Her mother, strict and emotionally unavailable, was the one who raised her, though it always felt more like survival than care. Her mother was a woman of structure, discipline, and duty. She provided for Keissa's physical needs, but she couldn't provide the warmth of affection, the tenderness Keissa so desperately sought. There were no long hugs or soft words, no late-night talks about life. Instead, Keissa learned to deal with her feelings alone.
Keissa's heart was full of a hunger for love. She searched for it everywhere, turning to others, looking for attention. She wanted to feel seen, to feel important to someone, anyone. But with each relationship, she gave more of herself than the other person was willing to return. She attached too quickly, too deeply, her heart thrown into connections that were never meant to last. She thought that if she just loved hard enough, maybe someone would love her back the way she needed. But she was wrong, each time. People used her, took what they wanted and left her broken. The pain of those experiences piled on. As Keissa grew older, the anger began to take root. Keissa hated how emotionally distant her mom was, how she never seemed to care about her feelings, how she acted like nothing was wrong even when everything inside Keissa felt like it was falling apart. She hated the way she had seen other mothers love their daughters. She hated the silence that seemed to scream louder than any argument. She kept looking for love in others, but the patterns never changed. The more she sought love outside, the more she realized that the love she needed most was the one that had never fully come from home.