"It's not that you're more comfortable doing for others," I say to my fogged reflection as I scrape the razor across my face, "because really, I'm far too selfish for that. No, the problem seems to be that I have such a hard time believing anybody really loves me, which is totally stupid."
The aching whiny-ness begins to subside as I focus on all the wonderful things I have in my life, and all the love I am given, if I only accept it, while I wonder what else I've missed out on simply because I didn't believe the people who wanted to be kind really meant it.
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