I learned to make things not matter, to put a seal on my hopes and place them on a high shelf, out of reach. And by telling myself that there was nothing inside those hopes anyway, I avoided the wounds of deep disappointment. The pain was no worse than the quick sting of a booster shot. And yet thinking about this makes me ache again. How is it that as a child I knew I should have been loved more? Is everyone born with a bottomless emotional resevoir?
The narrator reflects on their childhood experiences of disappointment and emotional pain, learning to suppress hopes as a coping mechanism. They describe how they placed their aspirations out of reach, convincing themselves that these hopes held no real substance. This tactic allowed them to avoid the deeper wounds of unmet expectations, likening the emotional pain to a fleeting sting rather than a profound hurt.
Despite this defense, the narrator revisits the...
