I always assumed love would be something that happened to me. Like one of the ungovernable forces such as gravity. I’d just have to walk through this world, not expect anything and one day, in the baking isle of a grocery store, we’d reach for the same thing, look at one another and fall in love. Something like that. I expected my life to be every cheesy plot line every rom-com has come up with. Part of me still does.
My mother married my father out of spite. Gran kept hinting about my mother getting married and because Mom was fed up with the nagging, she eventually fell for my stupid ass father who was not a good husband nor father. I’m pretty sure Grandma knows this which is why she never asks me about boys, dating, or getting married. She has never done so in the last 10 years and I’m grateful.
All the cheesy rom-coms end with a happily ever after but that’s fiction and this is the real world in which I am afraid to get hurt; to let anyone in. When I was younger and saw Mom going through the motions, I promised myself never to get lost in another person like that, to not get wounded like that. Which was a fatal decision. You can’t pick out the great parts of life and never touch upon the bad ones. You can’t just be happy all the damn time. I probably won’t fall in love just once. It will happen a bunch of times. Maybe it will never happen. That’s just the way life goes. I need to let people in, open myself up.
I’m not sure I have that in me though. It’s not in my nature to be vulnerable or not scared. Because I’m scared of the stupidest things. Well, maybe being kidnaped/murdered/raped and so on isn’t all that stupid but some other things in my head are.
Sometimes, I just don’t know what to do. I know the end result I want to be living but I have no idea how to get there, which roads to travel and with what. It’s like I skipped a very essential class in the school of life somehow everyone else attended. I’m putting too much stock into this but it’s not like there is much else I can obsess about. Obsessing lies in my nature.
In the end, my thinking comes back to me not being deserving of love. Because I have other things and maybe, because I wasn’t more attentive here or there or maybe without any reason or wrongdoing of my own, I’m just not worth it. Which brings me back to the above and my life being something that’s happening to me and not a thing I’m actively shaping.
I spent so many years troubleshooting my life that being proactive doesn’t seem like an actual thing. I’m trying to write my way out of this funk but so far, it’s not happening. I’m still feeling weird. Maybe all the personing over the weekend wasn’t good. But that’s just speculation.
I’m missing the hard facts, the recipes to follow for life like I’d follow a baking recipe. There’s no peeking at the last pages of a book with life, you don’t get spoilers. I’ll just keep sitting here, being afraid of getting the things I want. Because what if reality doesn’t cover my expectations? I’m looking for a way out, I swear, but it’s difficult. 20-somehting years of self!brainwashing don’t go away so easily.