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Today i realize something incredibly liberating, which I have been resisting for a long, long time.

I don’t need love to be hapy. Love will not make me happy.

Many times it has subtracted from an already happy life, and 1+1 has been equal to negative 2.

Most of the past few years I have been mostly happy, except for wanting desperately to be in love. Beliving that if I didn’t have it, I hadn’t really arrived, I ouldn’t possibly be there yet, it was just a prelude.

Also the same for perfection of many kinds- the day I finally stop fighting with my body, the day I become “normal,” the day I become the person I always thought I should have been, the day I become disciplined and perfect and like that other girl I wanted so much to be.

I am a romantic, so I do in many ways believe in love. And I have been given a beautiful example of true love not only in my parents but in many happy couples I’m blessed to know.

The person I thought I loved, the person I thought should love me, the person I thought would give me a reason to come home and be normal and would reconcile me to my roots and wings, turned out not to be up for the job.

And even if he was, I was aksing him for something he couldn’t give me, and no one really could.

Oly an illusion, only something that was not quite, only something that would evaporate eventually and leave the dried up, muddy, poisoned puddle of my troubled self worth.

Hard to admit, but there it is.

But now, having lost one of my most precious illusions- and noting that this is part of a string of failed attempts at trying to find someone to fix me- whih might also explain why I was so keen on more than one guy who wanted me to lose weight and didn’t mine words about it-

But anyway, yeah, I thought it didn’t really count that I had “arrived,” if I wasn’t perfect in every way- most importantly, that I had a man to show for how wonderful I was, and most importantly, not to end up alone.

Because sometimes it does after all feel like the point of life is to be liked. Whether it’s for your real self or your fake self.

And this fels like the shattering of a stone idol.

It feels like seeing the emperor without clothes.

Not because I think being in a good relationship wouldn’t be a worthwhile thing-

But because no matter how magical the relationship, it couldn’t fix my life, or rather, what I let remain broken within me.

There is no substitute for self love, or loving your life and doing everything in your power to fulfill your most creative vision for yourself.

No, not even a man…

not even the best of them.

So I feel a little scared because this feels like the kind of thing that could turn me into a man, or a lesbian, or a cat lady, or the professional woman with an empty home life I am most scared of becoming.

I realized on my last trip that there was nothing wrong or suboptimal that I was traveling alone- indeed, I enjoy my company and doing whatever I want.

Instead of thinking of the person that “should have” been there with me, and thinking the best was yet to come once I had roped a prize cowboy to be there at my side, I realized the point was simpl:

I was there.

Exactly where I wanted to be, seeing things I’d always dreamed of, living a life I couldn’t have even imagined.

Though loneliness is quite a real feeling, adn we shoudln’t be “independent,” just to avoid the hurt that almost inevitably comes from dealing with others and letting yourslef be vulnerable,  to let fear of it drive you is not being true to yourself.

Anymore than trying to fit in with the popular crowd, or the hipster crowd, or any crowd you’d like to feel cool in. Even if it’s your own family.

How crazy is it to realize there’s no need to live your life either waiting for someone to catch up fo r you, and/or simultaneously feelingn like you need to measure up to them, because you are just not good enough?

What if you chose to stand up for yourself, even if it meant standing by yourself?

Sounds like bliss to me.

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