The Full Moon is fucking with me, or maybe I’m just fucking the Full Moon. All I know is that it’s the year of the rabbit and I’m hopping to conclusions over the self-created, paranoid thoughts that are running through my mind.
They run through my mind all the time.
Am I good enough to be loved long time? Will he tire of me after loving me for a short while? Will he stick around, truly commit when I reveal all of me, my vulnerabilities, my deap seated fear of abandonment? You see I’m afraid to be discarded. I’m tainted by the loveless and inconsistent love of my father. Is it my new loves fault? No. Does it matter? No. What I do know is that I sit here, sipping a strong Bacardi and Coke, waiting for his call…afraid. Afraid to loose him, to believe in him, to finally be happy and in a relationship that is consistent. There is no reason why I should think otherwise, yet I sit here, being fucked by the Full Moon or fucking the Full Moon because I am indeed fucked.
I just hope he loves me and accepts me as is…fucked up and all.