August 29, 2020 4:52 p.m. Through the last few weeks I learned that I was still a screaming insecurity...years later, men later. I was with a man I felt free with in so many ways, but still felt restricted. Always felt like I was begging for his time and attention. He was always working. Working when I would come up to New York to see him. Always working. Too busy to even notice that we hadn't talked for a week or so. Always working. Working on himself, working on his career, working on his relationship with his last relationship, but rarely working on us. That's what happens when you're the go with the flow girl. I feel stupid. I let all these months slip by and not once did I slip up and admit that I needed exclusivity. That I needed security. Instead, I kept us "light for longevity." I wish I said what I really wanted instead of dancing around it. I wish we both said what we really wanted instead of tip toeing around it. There goes that mirror...both of us mirroring each other. I do see the purpose in letting us play out for all those months. I really do, but damn...it still hurts.

It hurts to know that we were both being stupid. It hurts to know we didn't want the same things. It hurts to know that I continue to chase a man's attention. It's like...filling up a glass of water. Filling, filling, filling. Pouring, pouring, pouring. Giving, giving, giving.

It was like I was silently screaming,

"AM I WORTHY YET? AM I DESERVING YET? DO YOU SEE ME YET? ARE YOU SEEING ME???" Pour, pour, pour, *am I worthy yet?* Fill, fill, fill, *am I deserving yet?* Give, give, give, *do you see me yet?*

After months and months of pouring, water was up to my neck. I worried about overfilling his glass, but what I realized is that I could have never over poured. There was a hole at the bottom of his cup. It never mattered how much I poured into it. Never. I was neck deep in my own insecurities, in my own pouring, my own doing, my own filling, my own giving. my, my, my. I've been thinking about the hole in his cup, but I question my willingness to over pour...

"Am I worthy yet? Am I deserving yet?" Why was I waiting for him to tell me I was worthy? Worthy of love, worthy of exclusivity. Why was I waiting for him to tell me I was deserving? Deserving of vulnerability, deserving of honesty. What was it about me that made me look for these answers in him? I have had the space to look at my own messy habits, patterns, and obsessions over the last few weeks. A week ago I was obsessing about what we were. A week later, I now know what we are. And that is nothing.