Love. It’s a sticky subject to say the least, It encompasses so much of our being from the time we’re born and bond with our parents to that first friendship to that first crush that truly teaches us what the word “crushed” means. It’s a scary prospect, love. This week, I’ve learned that for me, it’s a lot more scary than I ever realized.
No. I’m not talking about a stalker situation, though that’s a whole category that deserves discussion as love gone wrong, though I’m not sure you can categorize it as love. It’s obsession and power. I’m talking about the vulnerable side of us that we hide away from everyone except those that we deem worthy. It’s a giving of our whole self to someone. It requires that the other person will treat that raw. squishy bit of us with care. Like the Ood holding it’s own brain in it’s hand, we’re required to trust completely.
For as long as I can remember I’ve searched for it, longed for it, dreamed of the day I’d find the one and live happily ever after with my partner in crime. From Wuthering Heights to Brief Encounter to Dracula I’ve dremed of how it could be and wished for it. (A highly romanticized view of it, anyway) While doing some deep soul searching lately and trying to figure out why it is that I have such trouble relating to people and being myself apart from my shy persona, I’ve had a kind of huge realization. I’ve been looking forever for someone to love and accept me. It feels like a lifetime of disappointing encounter after disappointing encounter where that trust I spoke of was broken and that word “crushed” came up in reference to my heart. The big revelation is a bit of a surprise to me.
I’m the problem. I’ve always been the problem.
When I look back at the way I’ve been, it’s always been me that’s pulled away. This week I finally figured out why. A memory came up that showed me just how wounded I was and a big reason not to trust people with my exposed heart. It was something that happened when I was probably five or six, a best friendship gone wrong, which has had lasting tentacles. I can see it’s effects through all of my relationships telling me that people aren’t safe. People disappoint. People hurt. Unconsciously I’ve repeated this pattern over and over again and proved myself right.
When I realized this, I had a lot of anxiety, which showed me that I was on the right track. All the over-excitement when someone showed any interest in me was actually anxiety…fear. The last time I went on a date, I had to take a sedative to breathe, I was so anxious. That should have been a clue. My extra weight…a wall to keep interest away. Even my silence and shyness, not being myself in front of people, not showing them who I am, is a wall to keep people from getting too close or from seeing the real me; to keep them from rejecting me and making me feel bad or, God forbid, liking me and down the road, making me feel worse with a bigger rejection,
It feels almost silly finding out that you’re afraid of love. Heartache is so much easier. I know how to do that and really well. I’m used to that, but being open, really vulnerable to somebody, that’s terrifying. Now, that’s not to say that I still wouldn’t love to experience it before the end of the world, it just appears that I have a lot of work to do before I can. What a weird day.
WM
Tangent Off the Lifeline 