When it wasn't love

A desperate escape from what should have been home. Aged just eighteen, I thought of myself as an adult, grown up. I had to run, put an end to all the years of abuse and neglect I'd suffered at the hands of others.

But I was wrong. It didn't matter how far I ran, what distance I put between myself and the people who'd hurt me. I had naively thought all the emotional baggage would be left behind with all the belongings I wasn't able to take with me.

I thought my own attempts at love would help to heal my heart and past traumas. I wanted nothing more than to feel good enough. To be loved, and to be able to give love in return.