I often find myself being extraordinarily cruel to the one person I was always told to love- me. In reaction, I end up being cruel to others around me, filling their minds with repetitive concerns that I’ve committed an unneeded importance to. Honestly, there is nothing to gain except an unyielding pile of words that admits, confirms, or denies. There were younger days when I used to believe that the one for me would encounter all these spiteful attacks as relentless trials of conquer. I, now, continuously lie between the lines of always losing the war or picking at lost battles. I don’t fight valiantly, for I will always be discreetly armed in the stake of self-security.
On evening of 2014 Independence Day, I met a persistent admirer that in face of emotional devastation was willing to take a possible destructive path with me. “He’s foolish,” I thought. “No one could handle this.” Little did I know, my “this” wasn’t all that spectacular. We’ll call him, for serious purpose, NH instead of its actual denotation of Noodlehead.
NH has had partners with bipolar disorders, schizophrenia, depression, anxiety; some were alpha females, obsessive-compulsive, perfectly average, smart, and all were (are) meaningful to him. I have subtly hinted if there were outliers in his net counting of 6, the answer was unclear. In my case, I have had two.
In the last three years, my experience with love and lust revolved exclusively around two people- my first boyfriend whom I loved, and Ferguson whom I lusted after. I have been cruel to NH in the sense that I have placed my ideas of what I know or think I know from my relationships in comparison to his past. What I’ve been actually looking for is meaning. What do I mean to him if we invented a scale comprised of all factors involved in this idea of affection towards strangers? Could we standardize it to make it fair? If I could compartmentalize what I’ve learned and how significant each one was, why couldn’t he?
My worries stem from the fact that NH is absolutely too caring for everyone that remotely plays a part in his random partakes. His frequent ability to fall in love, to gather a sense of happiness with devotion to women, detracts me from him. I didn’t think that one simple, single characteristic would have me crawling back to self torture, in effect tormenting us to sustain vows that we may not be able to fulfill at the moment. I wonder, and analyze and scrutinize how we differ in the way we value true love and how this may affect us.
In retrospect, there is an evil variable called time that misconstrues our feelings, our memories, our way to process the same experiences, making it difficult to realize how much meaning one held when that era has passed. Granted, we aren’t the same person, nor have we stayed static as our lives moved ahead. We have changed and the person that we want to spend the rest of our lives with has too. So why have I been so cruel and allow the past to haunt me, even to the extent of guiding me away from what I believe will be, a phenomenal journey with someone who, for once, deserves everything that I am, and accepts everything that I am not?
~I know I’m not the Only One.