It’s not that I don’t want to love you.

It's that every time I look in the mirror I see sunken eye sockets and memories of someone I used to be. I remember the scars that made their way on to my body, on broken dreams and aching limbs and thoughts that destroyed my self-esteem. It’s the notebooks I filled with words that I read when I feel like breaking my own heart again. It's the bruises I gave myself on the skin that was never quite good enough for me to inhabit. It’s the not quite working brain that lives inside my head. It’s that fact that I can’t breathe when anyone says my name too fast, shellshocked from nervousness that wore away at my nervous system. It’s that my bones rattle in my body every time I think about the eighth grade. It’s patchwork blood stains on my comforter from the nights it got too bad. It's the guilt that continues to build in my veins. It’s that every time I look at you, I fear I will hurt you like I hurt myself. It’s permanent scars on my psyche that I don’t want on yours. It’s fearing that I will slide back into who I used to be. It’s not knowing who I am now.

It’s not that I don’t want to love you.
It’s that I don’t know how to love myself.