I mistook love for something else. That's always so difficult to admit because am I not also, by default, admitting that I wasted my time? There's something that I hate more than being hurt... and that is being wrong. I've tried to soothe myself by positing that maybe I wasn't fully wrong - maybe there was some kind of love there. There must have been. I want more than anything for that to have been love and to now be done with it for good.
I never experienced any sort of closure. I desperately wanted to at first, but time heals all wounds -
or at the very least, it makes you forget what hurt you then because you're facing what's hurting you now. There is a sort of relief that comes with that though. Once you start to forget, you realize that it 's not important to you anymore. That is, until you remember to think about it... then it all comes rushing back, and a part of you starts to want to be back there again, back in the moment when everything felt blissful and magical and unending. People grow and people change as life and experience shapes them. There are parts of me that I've retained, but I wouldn't say I resemble the person I was then very much. I wonder if I'll reach a point where all the pieces of me have changed and reformed, where I'll technically be a different person. It's like that thought experiment with the boat, you know? If you replace one rotten piece of wood for a new one, most would agree that it's still the same boat. But after a long enough while - as all the pieces of wood are replaced at different points in time - would we still say that it's the same boat? Or is it a completely new entity? You see, right now I can't ever see myself loving anyone ever again. Enough of me feels as though I've loved enough for a lifetime. I wonder if that will change. I wonder if those parts of me will be relegated to the shelves of my former selves. I wonder then, if I will ever look at another person with the intention of loving them.
Of course, all of this is a non-problem if it was never actually love at all. Perhaps it was just this hope that I clung to that I was capable of love. It could have been the alarm bells ringing in my brain - you know, the ones that alert you to act like a normal person would? Or is that just me? My relationship with forming relationships is interesting, and has been a catalyst for me to seek out deeper understanding of my own mental health and makeup. I don't think I'm wired like most people. It doesn't come naturally to me to form relationships, but I have a deep and keen understanding of how people work - what they desire, what they feel, what they think. My way of forming relationships is giving all of myself to people - my time, my energy, my resources. I'm a giver because people love to take. Even givers will learn to love taking from you when you allow them to become addicted to it (i.e. when you out-give them and they realize the attention they were missing out on). I wish it were as simple as being able to call myself a psychopath/sociopath, but I think there may have been clearer warning signs. If anything, the worst of it is just that I'm hyper-annoying and end up pushing people away because pretty soon they start to see through the facade and realize that I'm not that interesting or beautiful or intelligent - I just always give them what they want. Most people need more than that. [Side note: For anyone who thinks that I have self-worth issues or any concerned family/friends reading this right now, please just know that I am very much aware of the lies that I actively tell myself. I am in the process of rewiring my subconscious mind. My brain is constantly exhausted as it spends most of its time correcting decisions or thought processes initiated by a tainted subconscious. Don't you dare worry about me, either. If you love me, you'll know that I am stronger than myself. And if you truly love me and know me, you'll understand what that last sentence means.] Anyway, that whole giver/people-pleaser act is launched when my brain acts on a protocol deeply-rooted in my psyche. I get so excited by the prospect of having found this 'love' thing that people keep fussing over that I go crazy. I try to do everything in my power to catch and cling to it. Ironically, it never works. The more that I have tried to keep 'love', the faster people ran ("You're too intense.") or they just got bored ("My feelings for you just kind of fizzled out.").
I've been told about the mystical thing called love and told what it's supposed to look like and who I will find it with and what it will mean for me. Since childhood, I've been groomed to want love, to need it. Nobody takes the time to explain why. Nobody can tell you what love is anyway, but people seem to agree that it exists. I grew up with a very naive and immature idea about what love was. My parents were never honest - not in a malicious way. They didn't know how to communicate that to a child, and I, being a child, simply didn't understand yet. I still don't (but that is purely from a lack of trying to because of a sort of self-imposed exile). I had a good understanding of transactional love... because that's what easy to see, especially as a kid or teenager. If I was good like my sister, my parents would be proud of me and I wouldn't get into trouble. But I've never been like my sister, and I've always gotten into trouble (As a kid, I conflated the two). Everyone would be proud of you, if you participated in all the family events and sang for your aunties upon request. Boys had crushes on my friends because they were pretty, so I tried to be pretty like they were (Spoiler alert: I was never able to be pretty like them, and I didn't understand why I couldn't be and never focused on being my pretty little self instead). If you liked a boy, you were supposed to marry him and have kids, and then the world would look at you and nod their heads and say that you were happy and fulfilled. Pretty screwed on all counts there. There's an understanding my brain still operates under: They'll love you if you do what they want, and if you don't then you're not good enough to be loved. That's what I thought love was. I met someone that that didn't apply to, at least not fully. My brain still followed that protocol though, there was an inkling of interest and the hope sent me into overdrive and the normal processes - give her whatever she wants, say yes to everything, otherwise she'll never love you. But that chapter closed with me having experienced something completely different. Just in case it wasn't actually love, it was at least a different kind of hope. Instead of this desperation for connection, it was the hope that I was capable of feeling more and being more. There was hope that I was more than just someone who never said no. It was hope that maybe someone would love me even if I did say no to them.
Other people seem so sure of themselves. I look at them and wonder if they know how badly they're wrong about what they think is love. I'm not the expert and love is clearly the furthest thing from being an objective and/or tangible thing, but I certainly know what love isn't. So many people can't seem to discern between love and hope.
I never experienced any sort of closure. I desperately wanted to at first, but time heals all wounds -
or at the very least, it makes you forget what hurt you then because you're facing what's hurting you now. There is a sort of relief that comes with that though. Once you start to forget, you realize that it 's not important to you anymore. That is, until you remember to think about it... then it all comes rushing back, and a part of you starts to want to be back there again, back in the moment when everything felt blissful and magical and unending. People grow and people change as life and experience shapes them. There are parts of me that I've retained, but I wouldn't say I resemble the person I was then very much. I wonder if I'll reach a point where all the pieces of me have changed and reformed, where I'll technically be a different person. It's like that thought experiment with the boat, you know? If you replace one rotten piece of wood for a new one, most would agree that it's still the same boat. But after a long enough while - as all the pieces of wood are replaced at different points in time - would we still say that it's the same boat? Or is it a completely new entity? You see, right now I can't ever see myself loving anyone ever again. Enough of me feels as though I've loved enough for a lifetime. I wonder if that will change. I wonder if those parts of me will be relegated to the shelves of my former selves. I wonder then, if I will ever look at another person with the intention of loving them.
Of course, all of this is a non-problem if it was never actually love at all. Perhaps it was just this hope that I clung to that I was capable of love. It could have been the alarm bells ringing in my brain - you know, the ones that alert you to act like a normal person would? Or is that just me? My relationship with forming relationships is interesting, and has been a catalyst for me to seek out deeper understanding of my own mental health and makeup. I don't think I'm wired like most people. It doesn't come naturally to me to form relationships, but I have a deep and keen understanding of how people work - what they desire, what they feel, what they think. My way of forming relationships is giving all of myself to people - my time, my energy, my resources. I'm a giver because people love to take. Even givers will learn to love taking from you when you allow them to become addicted to it (i.e. when you out-give them and they realize the attention they were missing out on). I wish it were as simple as being able to call myself a psychopath/sociopath, but I think there may have been clearer warning signs. If anything, the worst of it is just that I'm hyper-annoying and end up pushing people away because pretty soon they start to see through the facade and realize that I'm not that interesting or beautiful or intelligent - I just always give them what they want. Most people need more than that. [Side note: For anyone who thinks that I have self-worth issues or any concerned family/friends reading this right now, please just know that I am very much aware of the lies that I actively tell myself. I am in the process of rewiring my subconscious mind. My brain is constantly exhausted as it spends most of its time correcting decisions or thought processes initiated by a tainted subconscious. Don't you dare worry about me, either. If you love me, you'll know that I am stronger than myself. And if you truly love me and know me, you'll understand what that last sentence means.] Anyway, that whole giver/people-pleaser act is launched when my brain acts on a protocol deeply-rooted in my psyche. I get so excited by the prospect of having found this 'love' thing that people keep fussing over that I go crazy. I try to do everything in my power to catch and cling to it. Ironically, it never works. The more that I have tried to keep 'love', the faster people ran ("You're too intense.") or they just got bored ("My feelings for you just kind of fizzled out.").
I've been told about the mystical thing called love and told what it's supposed to look like and who I will find it with and what it will mean for me. Since childhood, I've been groomed to want love, to need it. Nobody takes the time to explain why. Nobody can tell you what love is anyway, but people seem to agree that it exists. I grew up with a very naive and immature idea about what love was. My parents were never honest - not in a malicious way. They didn't know how to communicate that to a child, and I, being a child, simply didn't understand yet. I still don't (but that is purely from a lack of trying to because of a sort of self-imposed exile). I had a good understanding of transactional love... because that's what easy to see, especially as a kid or teenager. If I was good like my sister, my parents would be proud of me and I wouldn't get into trouble. But I've never been like my sister, and I've always gotten into trouble (As a kid, I conflated the two). Everyone would be proud of you, if you participated in all the family events and sang for your aunties upon request. Boys had crushes on my friends because they were pretty, so I tried to be pretty like they were (Spoiler alert: I was never able to be pretty like them, and I didn't understand why I couldn't be and never focused on being my pretty little self instead). If you liked a boy, you were supposed to marry him and have kids, and then the world would look at you and nod their heads and say that you were happy and fulfilled. Pretty screwed on all counts there. There's an understanding my brain still operates under: They'll love you if you do what they want, and if you don't then you're not good enough to be loved. That's what I thought love was. I met someone that that didn't apply to, at least not fully. My brain still followed that protocol though, there was an inkling of interest and the hope sent me into overdrive and the normal processes - give her whatever she wants, say yes to everything, otherwise she'll never love you. But that chapter closed with me having experienced something completely different. Just in case it wasn't actually love, it was at least a different kind of hope. Instead of this desperation for connection, it was the hope that I was capable of feeling more and being more. There was hope that I was more than just someone who never said no. It was hope that maybe someone would love me even if I did say no to them.
Other people seem so sure of themselves. I look at them and wonder if they know how badly they're wrong about what they think is love. I'm not the expert and love is clearly the furthest thing from being an objective and/or tangible thing, but I certainly know what love isn't. So many people can't seem to discern between love and hope.
This post was inspired by the song Hope by the Chainsmokers featuring the lovely Winona Oak. I can't tell you how many times I've listened to this song (or danced around to it in my dining room while my dog looks at me like I'm a crazy person). I hope you find something relatable in my musically-inspired introspection or, at least, that you enjoyed reading it.
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