Friday, October 16, 2015

Erasure

I think I missed out on a lesson somewhere, some vital piece of information that was never passed on to me most probably due to my many absences and general disregard for formal education. Am I the only one who doesn't care if someone is on their phone the entire date, if someone has no ambition or doesn't try to make great romantic gestures? All that is secondary in note for me and far behind in importance, in terms of relationships. 

When I love someone, I feel it in my gut. I feel a holy shit I love this person and I blurt it out and we go from there. I don't make a choice to feel it, but I decide to stick with it (occasionally - when you don't feel it anymore, there's nothing you can do). 

Did I miss the lesson which defined love? Because for me it's that. You love someone wit all their flaws, everything about them!, or you don't at all and let them be themselves. So why is it that love seems to be translatable to everyone else ass an opportunity to change someone? I would truly like to feel that, whatever it feels like, to actually feel loved. I don't think anyone ever did that for me. I've felt loved, because of who they can make me into. But is that really the point of it all? Why can't we see people and just dive in, head first, fuck it all! I love you! I want to find out everything about you and I will love it I don't care! Why is it that diving in means finding things you want to change?

For once, I'd really really really like to feel like someone actually loved me and not who they wanted me to be or expected me to be or saw me growing into. Why does everything have to be prefaced with correction? Yes, you didn't mean to get me to stop and change all of a sudden, it was a spur of the moment ultimatum, but you always wanted to change me. And why? I was, relatively, happy. I just wasn't what you pictured.

I mean, I get it. I'm a piece of shit human being and trash and of course no one will love me as I am because I'm awful and don't deserve it. But it would be nice to not have all that affirmated again and again and again.

I don't think anyone will ever feel that way for me and it makes me sad. The me that I am, the me that I hate, apparently you despise and wish to murder, irradiate, alter, banish too. Hell, you don't love me, who I am, at all. Just parts. And people aren't parts. So I'll degrade and crumble, if it will keep you here. Because I really love you, even how you want to destroy me, so I will do what you want. Death is what I've always wanted, and this is just a new form. I may have stopped the cigarettes and the booze but I'm indulging more and more in another bad habit - self loathing. Oh what fun times! Hobbies include: knitting and selfmutilation, physically and emotionally. 

But where was I? Oh yes. Molding and shaping and demanding and pulling and pushing and erasing and ownership (because that's what this is right? Seeing yourself owning someone, the right to their identity and the right to change it) and love. No one will ever look at me, know me, listen to me, and think, wow! She may not be perfect but I'll take it all. No. There must, as the universe commands it to be, be a transaction for all happiness that comes my way. This particular deal is: you can be happy, but you cannot be you. And I accept it.

It's just a shame. But it will never happen. Know how I know? You were my best shot. And you'll never love me for who I actually am and that's okay. I'm awful.