I’m beginning to lose faith in this thing called “love”. Love to me feels like a myth, a tall-tale, a story passed through generation to generation – a nice story to fantasize about. Maybe it’s like how some people don’t believe in ghosts, or angels – if you never experience it, you never really believe. So logically, how am I expected to believe in something I have never experienced? And it’s looking like I will never experience.
I’m one of those unlucky bastards who never really have a long-term relationship. I’ve had boyfriends sure, but nothing I’d ever really call a positive experience – experiences none-the-less, but nothing I look back on and say “gee, I miss that”. When I look at those who claim to have been in love, I see nothing but the pain that it’s brought them, and wonder why bother?
When I’m trapped inside myself, loneliness is my companion and I am stuck with the burdens of myself. Do those who claim to have love merely seek out a person they can stand to be around that will dull the voices inside their heads, telling them their own doubts about themselves? Do these people seek out something to make them feel whole?
I’ve sought out someone to fill that emptiness inside my heart that we all have, and all I find is more self-doubt and insecurities. Either I mess up the situation so badly that it is ruined, or I am not good enough to fill someone else’s void. I’ve been so obsessed with this societal quest to find “the one”, that I’ve even joined an online dating site. Sure, it’s great to get out there, meet new people. Except, meeting new people and opening yourself up is definitely a risk to get hurt badly. Some people say that if you don’t take that risk, you’ll never find something great. Well, I’ve taken a lot of risks, and have yet to find that “something great”.
So I’ve been asking myself, why am I bothering? When I do find someone who actually likes me for me, I’m such a fucked up moron that when I find these people I can’t seem to feel an attraction for them, or I completely shut down because I know if I open myself up to them I’m going to soon feel that ripping pain that comes with that notion of “love”. And then I allow myself to be drawn to men who are completely uninterested in me in every way, and let them use me for sex and throw me away when they’re done. And I can blame these men all I want, but deep down it’s my own fault for letting myself be treated this way, and having no self-respect. I keep running circles in my head, asking myself why I am attracted to these men, the men who sleep with me, and tell me how great I am, and then leave me hanging as they date a thinner, more attractive woman. Or I meet this nice, interesting, attractive guy, who is afraid to even have a cup of coffee with me as a friend. Or I ask out that cute coffee-man, and he doesn’t have the nerve to tell me he’s not interested. I wonder to myself, am I that awful that none of these man will give me the chance to get to know me? Am I so unattractive that these men are ashamed to be seen with me? Is it me? Is it them? And no one’s to blame, these people are not bad people, I just seem to go for the ones that want nothing to do with me it seems.
How can I have self-respect when every time I open up I get trampled on? And then when I finally bring up my self-confidence, and begin to feel good about myself – on my own, I may add – those around me question why I don’t have a companion, like it’s an abomination to be alone. And I almost let myself believe that I am abnormal for liking being alone, I start to convince myself that it’s not right, that I need someone to make me happy.
Well, I’m going to stick to my mantra, the same mantra that has helped me get through some tough times in my life. Repeat it with me: Fuck it.
Fuck it. That is precisely what I’ll do. I’m done searching for love, it is my Moby Dick, and if I’m not careful it’ll be my downfall. I don’t need love to make me happy, and anyone who believes they need it to be happy is full of it. You can find happiness in anything if you look hard enough, and I’m tired of obsessing over a lost-cause. Maybe I’ll be lucky though – like if I lost my keys and search for them for hours with no avail, but when I stop looking for them I find them in the most obvious place. Maybe when I give up hope and move on, maybe that’s when something will surprise me.
Until then, I say “Fuck It”. I’ve never needed a man to make me happy, I’ve never needed to be in love to be complete. And that’s not going to change.