Growing up, it was beaten into me that it was always my fault. Always. That mindset still follows me. At its worst point, people would glance my way and automatically I believed I did something wrong, and a pathetic sorry would fall out of my mouth.
Love has become a capitalized market: we've gotten to the point where we have catalogues of human beings to skim through on our phones like a magazine in a doctor's office.
There's a stigma out there that because I don't feel very well, I don't have the capacity for empathy, that I must be cold, lack all creativity, and that I'm prone to dangerous personality disorders. Who truly is the heartless one?
A scented candle isn't going to make my craving for escapism go away. In fact, it may dangerously replace an old addiction from a new one.