Gifts

My insecurities are gifts.

Awful little gifts given to me by people in my life.

Gifts I can’t return.

Gifts with zero thought or effort put into them.

Everyone has these gifts.

Some people package these presents and give them to others.

Some hide the gift away and act like it doesn’t exist.

If you’re like me, the gift are plain as day.

My best friend in middle school gave me the gift of hating the sound of my own voice.

My bullies gave me the gift of doubting myself no matter what I do.

And lastly, the biggest gift of all was from myself.

The gift of hatred.

That gift is huge.

It combines all the other gifts I’ve received, but makes it worse.

I try to hide this one more than the others, but every few days it falls out of the already crowded closet.

These aren’t gifts that keep on giving, but they do take.

A lot.

They take any ounce of joy I may feel.

They take any healthy relationship I may experience.

They take everything until I become what they intended.

They take until there’s nothing left.

My insecurities are gifts.