I Need to Get Something Off My Chest
Kinda emo, but eh (written 9/24/17 10:40am)
I don't want to be mad. I don't want to be the girl who writes hateful things on the internet about a relationship that fell apart mostly from her own doing. I don't want to be the girl that panders for sympathy or makes excuses about why things didn't work out. "I'm just not used to connection." "I wasn't ready for a relationship." Or my new favorite, "It was that time of the month."
I'm not some kind of pathological liar though. All of those things are true, but they're also pretty external, vague, passive excuses for my behaviors. In reality, if I were to dig to the root of it, as he so often tried to get me to do, I would say that I enjoy being alone.
As untrue as that statement is in my heart, my actions have shown it to be fact. I tell myself that I want connection. I pine for it. Imagine it sporadically throughout my week, thinking about what my life would be like if I had my picturesque close-knit circle of friends as they do on the sitcoms, and that dependable other half, who is alluring and humorous, yet also knows when to be serious and comforting... and I desire this. I want this all-encompassing relational safety net of support, which when written out sounds like some grotesque nightmare. Smothering. Unrealistic. Stagnant. Comforting.
I've never been one that's comfortable in comfort. I'm sure that could be traced back to my roots too. As soon as everything starts falling into place, I start asking myself what's going to go wrong. What am I going to lose first? And then, I dutifully take the responsibility into my own hands and toss something out before it decides to toss me first.
That's my nature, and that's where I find my equilibrium. I am most calm in a state of deprivation. I can only feel at ease when I have nothing of value to lose, and in order to keep it that way, I must remain alone.
I don't want to be mad. I don't want to be the girl who writes hateful things on the internet about a relationship that fell apart mostly from her own doing. I don't want to be the girl that panders for sympathy or makes excuses about why things didn't work out. "I'm just not used to connection." "I wasn't ready for a relationship." Or my new favorite, "It was that time of the month."
I'm not some kind of pathological liar though. All of those things are true, but they're also pretty external, vague, passive excuses for my behaviors. In reality, if I were to dig to the root of it, as he so often tried to get me to do, I would say that I enjoy being alone.
As untrue as that statement is in my heart, my actions have shown it to be fact. I tell myself that I want connection. I pine for it. Imagine it sporadically throughout my week, thinking about what my life would be like if I had my picturesque close-knit circle of friends as they do on the sitcoms, and that dependable other half, who is alluring and humorous, yet also knows when to be serious and comforting... and I desire this. I want this all-encompassing relational safety net of support, which when written out sounds like some grotesque nightmare. Smothering. Unrealistic. Stagnant. Comforting.
I've never been one that's comfortable in comfort. I'm sure that could be traced back to my roots too. As soon as everything starts falling into place, I start asking myself what's going to go wrong. What am I going to lose first? And then, I dutifully take the responsibility into my own hands and toss something out before it decides to toss me first.
That's my nature, and that's where I find my equilibrium. I am most calm in a state of deprivation. I can only feel at ease when I have nothing of value to lose, and in order to keep it that way, I must remain alone.
31-35, F
