Love
So I’m sitting here reading love letters and about love letters of famous people. These people are rich, usually artists always dead.
I wonder if poor people have romantic love and devotion. My experience as a child raised in abandoned poverty then as an adult always under-employed and under-educated due to low self worth is no. A resounding no.
Folks have told me I’m attractive all my life and there has always been attention paid to me, user-lovers pass through my life, and due to loneliness, self criticism really, a lack of discernment and acceptance of the self abuse as ‘this is the best I can do’.
So when I start to say ‘please don’t criticize me’, I prefer
to be alone over being criticized, I come face to face with the cause of my loneliness:
No One Loves Me.
This a lie.
I Love Me. I am never alone, I am always here with me, laughing at my jokes, enjoying my art, feeling satisfied with life’s challenges. The self criticisms are always a self defeating lie. Always. There is no evidence for those beliefs.
Critique on the other hand is self helping: what was I going for, how close did I get, how do I get closer, how does it compare to genius is the field, was it really just a starting point that I took off from, as Picasso recommends?
By removing the shoulds and the musts I am removing self defeating criticism and replacing it with ‘I highly prefer but I don’t HAVE to.’
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