Archive for October, 2013

It’s Not You, It’s Me

Posted: October 13, 2013 in me

I am not afraid to fall in love again, I’m afraid of falling out. Since you can’t have the latter without the former, I’ve avoided, well, both, actually. No one has “jaded” me. No one has broken my heart. No one has crushed my fairytalic ideal of love. I just can’t seem to stay in love.

Journaling has always seemed like a torturous chore to me, but I write nonetheless. Recently again, and all through my adult life, I’ve taken upon the self-indulgent task of revisiting stuff I wrote throughout the years. I can almost pinpoint the moment I fell out of love with anyone I ever thought I loved, or that loved me. I could almost guarantee that I was always first to do so. Women are complex that way. Or we’re conditioned to be the “make it workers” in relationships. Or maybe it’s just me. The thought that I needed to get this to work. I needed to water and sun and feed and nurture this thing I was so afraid to just admit was dead. One person cannot carry a relationship emotionally. But I have tried. And I’ve seen women do the same last tango as I am so guilty of. Progressing from wondering what is wrong with the other person, doing things to rekindle the flame, picking apart the other as if there’s some Pandora’s box of answers, if only we can unlock it. And that’s all bullshit.

The last few years I decided to just skip that part and walk away. Never once has it “come back around” or worked itself out. Even if I had myself convincingly fooled into thinking that’s even possible. I honestly don’t think it is. When it’s gone it’s gone. This is now a fact to me. A fact in a soupy sappy non-scientific non-mathematical madness. Love is madness. I have searched for the pattern or formula or sequence for 20 years. There isn’t one. Nobody has ever earned my love, nor have they earned losing it. Madness drew me in and madness spit me out.

In good conscious I cannot neglect to mention the boredom. OH THE BOREDOM! Not the boredom some experience with sex or conversation or comfortable silence. For me it’s like an aching emptiness in my bones. A compulsion to switch, to do a 180, to run. Last night it occurred to me how often my cat looks upon me with dead eyes, stares actually. As if he wants me to DO SOMETHING. I lack  the capability to read his mind and figure out that THING he so desperately needs me to do to entertain him. I get it. I do it. And how insane is that? As if I can Jedi Mindfuck some poor sappy dude into reclaiming his position as the center of my universe? I cannot. That is insane. I am insane. And bored.

Is any of this deep critical analysis  going to help me find a love “that sticks?” That’s truly unlikely. It’ll work about as well as wearing a can of OFF. Or maybe it will. Maybe I need to realize that love, like a relationship is not here for my entertainment. Maybe I’ll stop treating relationships like an ant farm, that seems like the coolest idea until I realize there is a little bit of setup and effort required on my part. And that I should stop filling my ant farm with snails and wondering why they’re not ants.