i’m not sure i was taught how to love correctly, if at all. i worry that the forms of love that i know simply range from superficial to all-encompassing with no possibility of any middle ground. i rarely am able to feel loved. comforting words and paramours only last so long when you deem yourself unable to be truly understood and thus, loved.
i suppose that sentence is only half-true. i often share the acknowledgments that members of my family do love me, especially those i feel kept at arm’s length by. i don’t doubt that they do think they love me. but can you truly love someone you don’t know? and more than that, don’t care to know?
the bonds of blood and familiarity can only run so deep if an effort is not made to upkeep it. my family love the version of me they first met, a minute into the world, unsullied, no opinions, no mistakes, no personality. loving the concept of a person without truly being able to see them in front of you is often spoken about in a romantic context, but what about familial? you may feel bound to a person, or that you know them by virtue of perceived habits and preferences you’ve learnt, does it matter if the person doesn’t feel understood by you? does it make a difference if they feel they can’t share their interests or hobbies or thoughts due to lack of interest?
i may have long given up on trying to understand familial love. although i remain obliged to maintain relationships with certain members and deeply hope to be appreciated or seen for the person i am, i’m not sure it’s possible anymore. i think that’s where the inate feeling of being unable to be loved might originate. if the people who are supposed to be closest to me don’t perceive knowing me as an inherent part of loving me, what does it actually mean to love someone? to care about them? their wellbeing? to want to be around them?
i suppose that’s why i constantly overshare details about my life and internal thoughts to those close to me. a.b.s. and m.c. are victims of my tangents and deep-dives into my psyche that simply serve as annoyances. it’s a consistent attempt to share things about myself in hopes of them caring. in hopes of feeling more understood. in hopes of feeling loved.
i think that plays a part in why i’m unable to walk away from a.b.s. despite being well aware of supposed common sense. at some point, i felt more understood by him than anyone else. i felt seen in a way that i always hoped to be. part of me is unsure if that was ever true. another, wiser, less afraid part of me knows it still is. i still find myself able to share certain aspects of my life i’ve never been able to voice out loud to him, even when i know that it might not be met with any form of reaction. he continues to surprise me in actually internalising some of the information i impart and developing the idea he has of me in his head.
the concept of myself in other’s minds often plays on mine. a young teenager obsessed with people’s perception of me grown into a young adult just trying to be pleased with myself, trying to better myself sometimes feels like fighting natural instinct. trying to complete a puzzle without knowing what the final image looks like, or if these are even the right pieces to be attempting with. (this reminded me of the “trying to solve a crossword and realising there’s no right answer” lyric from red about fighting with a partner lmao)
i think despite how much i crave it; affection, love, tenderness, intimacy and attachment terrify me. they terrify me as i am all too aware of the fact that i do not know how to moderate them. i worry it’s not in my dna to moderate them. i don’t know how to love casually. how to pretend not to care when i do. how to hold back. the even larger problem is that i don’t even want to.
i hate having to feign disinterest or nonchalance or whatever the most recent synonym is for detachment in hopes of illiciting the opposite from the person in front of me. “one step back and let them chase you”. fuck that. i’m terrified of how much i care about people, but i’d rather be open about it rather than sit in untold feelings, mulling over my next steps in a grand scheme of never-fully-satisfying relationships with people. more than that, i like that i’m too open with my feelings. i adore that i’m able to express affection to others. even when i’m not receiving it back.
i wonder if this is part of why i pursue or even attract people that have more difficulty expressing it. at least recently. i think it has to do with my experiences in romance so far. when the person has been able to express it, i’ve somehow found a reason to end the relationship for completely unrelated reasons, not acknowledging the deeper root of it. i don’t know if i ever want to be happy. i don’t know that i’m capable of it. i’m terrified of never being quite satisfied with my life for one reason or another and hurting a person i love in the process.
i clearly have too much time to think. i was hoping for a pleasant evening reading the fountainhead before submitting to my fatigue and watching asmr in bed but i find myself once again afflicted with the need to figure myself out. the longer time goes without someone who wants to take up the task, the more i feel i must. truth be told, it’s absolutely not somebody’s job to endure. i still hope that someday someone will.
i would attempt to lessen a.b.s. mental turmoil if he let me. i feel closer to a reality of that happening than ever before and wonder if all of my worries about being afraid of a connection stem from it. is this just me trying to run away from a problem again? fulfiling my prophecy as the bolter? (that’s two taylor references in six words. new record. kinda impressed!)
i don’t want to. i want to sit and endure the discomfort and figure it out with him. i don’t even know what ‘it’ is? life? what there is between us? if there really is something worthwhile there? i don’t know what i’m looking for. i just know that he serves as a really confusing beacon in my indecision and confusion. he stands separate as an individual. the relationship between him and i at the moment may be just as confusing, if not more (that may be a slight overexaggerating as he is, at the end of the day, just a man) than all other muddiness i deal with; but he, himself, somehow, isn’t.
that’s why i don’t want to renounce this. whatever this is. i don’t feel that i can.
to love for the hope of it all 
Leave a comment