You’re Not Doing It Wrong, You’re Just Doing It
Alternate Post Title : “I wish I wasn’t a hopeless romantic“
A HOPELESS ROMANTIC? IN THIS ECONOMY? Well, I’ll be damned.
Spoiler Alert : I was.
I have to bite my tongue. I’m not speaking damnation into my existence. Maya told me, “You’re great!” being the forking giver that I am. She’s an Aries. I trust her. Sadly not all Aries think so.
Ah, imagine if I didn’t think with my heart. Imagine how happy I’d be. “Oh, you don’t want me anymore? Fine! Sure, I’ll be your bestie!” and our inside jokes would be literal inside jokes : “Hey, remember when you were inside me? Hah! Good times.“
No, no … this isn’t a sob story. It’s the complete opposite. I’ve been such a sheltered child (as I tirelessly say), so my life has been mostly staying in the safest, most shallow areas of the ocean, and (with almost absolute certainty) knowing where a certain road ends up.
I keep thinking about the lives my generation lives. Most of my friends are in their 30s, unmarried, without children, they don’t seem bothered. They don’t give off the vibe that they’re “running out of time”, and I keep wondering why the F am I so worried about being in the state I’m in. Society doesn’t run the same way it used to. And I sure as hell don’t know anyone any explanation to why (and how) I live my life.
I was going through all blog posts (Open Letters) I wrote from as early as 2015. The repetitive cycle I am on. I have the same questions. I have the same feelings. For some reason I do not remember feeling that way then. I try to remember the pain — there aren’t even scars. No remnant of the wounds that once almost felt like death.
I don’t know if that’s a good thing. It’s probably what I get for wearing my heart on my sleeve. I fall down, down, down, lower, lower, lower than I did the last time. I crawl out of the grave I dug myself, and then dust myself off, and take another leap … to maybe dig another grave? God. I hope not.
I think this one’s much different than all the other cliffs I’ve jumped off of. Maybe because this time it was — real (figuratively, but still real. You know what I mean).
I don’t want to think that it’s wrong — to feel. To let it consume me, then break me. I either grow through the cracks or fully emerge from the destruction. I just wish it didn’t hurt. I wish life didn’t give me such … beautiful people, inside and out, only to take them away from me.
But man, let me tell you. This one hit me hard. It was too good to be true. It felt like a dream come true. To find someone who makes you feel things you thought only existed in movies. To find someone who actually saw you. Who gave you so much effort, and time, and attention — to make you feel like you were worth something. Worth the risk. Sadly, just for a time.
I’m typing this entry with tears in my eyes. A mix of feeling grateful, and sad. I can’t hate someone who brought me so much happiness, but the same person shut the door in my face. I’m torn. I don’t want to wallow in self-pity, as I know what I am capable of giving, of bringing to the table. Why am I not enough? I have so much to give. So much.
I thought about Dirty Dancing and all the other movies that made love triumph above all. Some people don’t want to make it their reality. The more logical, practical approach.
I don’t see anything wrong with that. Life these days isn’t easy. Love, technically, does not put food on the table.
But my god, I grew up believing in this crap. I feel like Ewan Mcgregor in Moulin Rouge, explaining to his parents, his “blind” faith in love. Call me cheesy, or perhaps delusional — but I want that. If it isn’t in my life yet, then I’m not settling.
If I could feel so much for people around me who cannot, and choose to not mirror my energy, the passion I am so willing to give, then imagine when the right person shows up (or resurfaces …) in front of me.
I think I deserve that. I’ve said it tons of times. I’m a simple girl with simple needs. Stability? Sure. Career? I’m fine where I am. But dammit, my cup is overflowing with love. Give me someone to share it with. Give me someone who couldn’t bear to not touch a part of my body when we’re together. Give me someone who needs me. Give me someone who is complete on his own but wouldn’t mind to be nurtured. Give me someone who’d rant to me like a child. Give me someone who’d sleepily pull me closer to him in the middle of the night. Someone who’d adore me and let me know it without me asking. Someone who’d choose me. Everyday. Someone who’d be proud to call me his. Show me off to the world. Someone, who, in the middle of a random conversation with friends, or people he’d just met, say, “Oh, my Abbie likes that”. I want the clinginess. I want sweating during power naps because we’re so attached to each other. Loving, constant longing.
I know people say that relationships take a lot of work. I believed that too. But I don’t think it’s necessarily unrealistic to want to be in the honeymoon phase forever.
I just need someone who is equally crazy about me. Someone who won’t cower at the intensity of how much I feel for them, but would choose to rise up to match it.
I think I was lying through my teeth when I made you believe that I knew where I stood. I think I was lying to myself, too. I was in too deep. I knew that. I tried, with all my might to know my place.
But my god, you treated me so good. I didn’t have a choice. I fell.
I can’t ever regret something that brought me so much bliss. I just wish it wasn’t a double-edged sword.
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