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Does love, and the search for it, have to be a constant disappointment? Is throwing in with another human creature bound to hurt all the time?

I know people say not to have too many expectations, but then they also victim blame you when things don’t go right because you didn’t think it through in the beginning.

I’m sad, because someone I really hoped would love me and I are not really on the same page at this point.  I’m not overly attached to him at this point, but the whole episode of trying to really give someone a chance has just really drove him the the fact that my fearless quest for love when it was clearly unrequited was just another hedge against disappointment, just like all those one night stands.

Because once I loved the nitty gritty of a real person, who didn’t check all the boxes but did make me happy some of the time, in fact a lot of the time much as I often feel ashamed to admit it, disappointed the shit out of me, breaking my confidence and my heart over and over, no matter how faithful and devoted he may have been.  He didn’t take care of himself, not to mention he was sometimes mean to me in ways I wish not to acept again. not that I was perfect either.

Love led to some ruin, both on my  side and his, particularly, with an extended trip to the psych ward. For me, I got into a toxic non-relationship spiral, created quite a romantic tale about a somewhat shadowy figure who passed into and out of my life and into unanswered chat boxes, and guys I fucked specifically because I didn’t think I would ever really care for them.

Now, all I want is to find someone worth caring about.

And it’s really, realy hard.

It’s really hard to care, without a guarantee it will work.

It’s hard to care, knowing everythingis in place for it to work and it just might work for a while and then crash, so-called wasting years of your life.

And it’s hard to believe I”m not alone in this universe, super egocentric and snowflake child tortured “special” romantic prodigy genius that I am.

What I am mostly though is sad.

I believed for a long time that those roads that did not lead me to love health and happiness, marriage and children, were just dead ends.

NOw I know, like the Sheryl Crow song I listened to compulsively after my first and only really serous breakup, that these detours are part of a winding road, and there’s no telling where it will lead me.

MOther, teach me to love with a paper thin heart.

There is some unhealed part of me, and it is a shame to say I really just want to fix it to make new love come in my life, and somehow have the reassurance that I’ve finally gottent right.

But I deserve to set it right regardless, and to let that festering wound, and the pain of my loneliness permeate my whole being.


I deserve more than that, to make it a wound where the light enters a la Rumi.  I rightly attribute a lot of my freedom today to breaking up with Victor, a decisive point in my life,a rebellion from routine and safety and comfort, where my authenticity and courage demanded me to stop taking the seemingly safe road. And I didn’t let my pain stop me, or my fear, from doing what I knew was right.

But I deserved to feel those feelings without inner censure. As I deserve to say that I am lonely and sometimes really just want to be with someone, without being told I need to love myself first or be more independent or what have you.

But the truth is that love is gona hurt. I hate the idea that someone will hold me back in any way, especially because nothing is certain, much less a relationship. And sometimes I don’t know whether it would be best for me to be bound or to stay free.

The goal was never to be a caged bird dwelling in secuirty and comfort, but it was to loved ad be loved, flying side by side.

Once someone loved me, and I broke him, the story goes.

But the truth is that the cracks were already there.

And even if I did break him, I still deserve love.

From a breakable man who could really love me, and not some indifferent prince charming so far away to ever really know who I am to love me, and far enough away that I could imagine it was my own fault in some way- my forwardness, my passion, my guilelessness, my disobendeince to “the rules’-

but it was never really under my control anyway.

Maybe that’s the point of it all.