A strange side effect of how I grew up (speaking to men too old for me online) is not having the intuition to discern abuse from love. In my older years, I've come to distinguish certain patterns that lead to my exploitation and have successfully been able to avoid that for the most part but every now and then a sly one slips through and hurts my heart again. I've gotten better though thankfully.

What they don't really tell you about getting better is how much you miss the horrible treatment. Master is hitting me because he cares about me, isn't he? (No.) That guy who came in your ass and left to get himself food while you left after him will invite you back because he likes you right? (Nah.)

The dichotomy of the rational brain versus the brain who screams for validation through the only avenue I understood my entire life is a head trip. I imagine my type is fawner because the love bombing really works. They used to get what they wanted when they told me how pretty and perfect I was but I've since recognized it for what it is. But in a way, I'm resentful to my boundaries. They keep me from feeling "Love."

Relearning how to Love properly and have enough self respect to decline the advances of so many who want to use me to get off is hard. The use feels like Love. The only type of Love I currently recognize unfortunately. It hurts to tell myself that's not the attention that matters in the long run as much as I want it to be, you know?

🫶🏻 Another journal post for today. I have a lot on my mind. Mwah.

There must be a balance here, and I won't stop until I can find it. I'm hopeful my trauma can be a guide instead of a hindrance.