What if you fall out of love with yourself?

‘I yearn to scrape off my skin,
scream until I’m nothing
but a whisper.’
 - penned thoughts 

Once upon a time, I learned to love myself. My body, my mind, my scars – both visible and not, where I had been, where I was and where I was going. My soul sung, which was funny because up until then, I hadn’t really considered a ‘soul’. The possibility of my sense of self shattering, of my mind diminishing me, of my limbs becoming weights never occurred to me. Miss thing who created a blog centred around self-acceptance was slowly starting to resent every part of herself. Lonely. Unloved. Worthless. Should have. Should have. Should have. Was I being over-dramatic? Were my feelings justified? I should know better. So inconsistent. Fucking get over yourself. I can’t do anything right. My heart palpitated whilst asking, ‘would you like a receipt?’. I’m just, tired.

Last winter, I slowly started to fall out of love with myself. My introspection started to turn into excessive and obsessive rumination. I wish I could say things are A-ok again now. They’re not. I penned those thoughts above just over a month ago. I wish I could say that my tried and tested learn-to-love-yourself techniques were fool-proof (read: music, yoga, meditation, salt baths, gratitude, writing, healthy food), however this time, their effects took longer to become noticeable. My utter lack of motivation probably didn't help.
I can say though, that I’ve, for the most part, convinced myself I’m deserving of love*. I can say that I’ve committed to re-learning how to love myself. And I can say that after nine months of trying to reverse the effects of falling so hard last year, my sense of self has been re-established enough for me to write this.
Sometimes I lust for a pause button on life so that I can catch my breath.
Sometimes I lust for, well, life.
And the latter is starting to balance out the first.

Though, I'm not sure why I want to write this on here. I don't want to start blogging again. Frankly I don't know if the significance of my words extend any further than the walls of my own skin. I don't even know the consistency of their significance - does writing this ensure I never fall out of love with myself again? I usually write this kind of thing as a way to validate myself and my emotions as well as on the off chance someone somewhere who's going through something similar, will read this - just as I've done time and time again with something someone else has shared. The reassurance that you're not alone can be vital. I'm not sure, but I'm okay not having all the answers.
Radical self-acceptance, I guess?

*I’ve been watching a lot of sappy dramas recently so just want to clarify, I’m referring to self-love, platonic love.
P.S Wise words


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