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.