Potential is Not Guaranteed
“The one you love and the one that loves you are never, ever the same person.” –Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters
Isn’t that a motherfucker? No really, think about that shit. The person that you would do anything for and the person that would do anything for you are never the same person. Fuck. I’ve been there. You have, too. Am I in infinite agreement with this quote? No. I have been there though, a few times. I feel comfortable writing about my failures now, because they got me to where I am currently.
In my previous post, I explained that I am in love with myself, but it wasn’t always this way. I had to get there and it wasn’t overnight… It was over disappointment. I used to think that I was cool by saying, “I expect nothing but disappointment from people.” I thought that saying that meant that I had no expectations. But disappointment is an expectation. That is exactly what I got, too.
I used to date a guy that gave me a designated night of the week to be with him. This meant that while I had Friday, someone else had Monday, someone else had Tuesday, and so on. I accepted this. Why? I was lonely. I was desperate. I wanted SOMETHING and even this bullshit appeased me. I had another guy that was in architecture school. He was very focused on his studies and told me he would never commit to me because it would be a distraction, but I stuck around. Why? Once again, I was lonely and I wanted someone to want me, desire me, and dote on me. Guess what night I got this time? Sunday night, because during the week he did school, on Saturdays he hung out with his friends (that I never met), and Sunday was his “open” day/night.
There was another guy. This one I actually liked. (Yes, I dated people I didn’t like. Fuck off.) I stuck around for almost 2 years with this one. No, he wasn’t my boyfriend. He was just the guy I was faithful to, but he fucked whomever he wanted. I was his ride to work, the person that taught him how to drive a stick, found him a car, helped him move into his apartment, and when he was homeless and kicking it on his friend’s couch, would be right there with him. I didn’t have a day of the week with this guy. Instead, I was only around when everyone else wasn’t or he needed a ride somewhere. I thought I loved him. I never said it, because fuck that shit. I didn’t want to look like a sap. Besides, this is the same guy that told me on Easter Sunday while leaving my best friend’s home that I couldn’t be seen with him around town. Why? “No one would believe that we are dating because I only date dimes.”
That was it. That was the moment I questioned myself and this fear I had of being alone. Where did it come from? Why was I so terrified of being alone? Who did this to me? The answer was simple. I did this to me. Not without some assistance of course from society. Throughout a female’s life, we are taught through our “happily ever after” endings that by growing up, being beautiful, and getting married, you’ve made it. No one talks about what happens after. We’re just taught not to be alone. This causes people to think that accepting the bare minimum is okay – that being with someone that you don’t love will all be worth it in the end because at least you’re not alone. What a crock of bullshit! I was eating it by the bowl full. I dated guys and girls based on who I thought they could be. I chose to see the promise in them and ignore how miserable they made me feel. I assisted with their life goals when they never had a life goal WITH ME in mind. I did work for start-up clothing companies, I pasted shit together for architecture classes, and I changed who I was and how I dressed to keep up appearances. ALL of this for people that had future plans for themselves that didn’t include me… Ever. I would be a footnote – if that. I was so sad in all of these situations and I decided that I was going to be celibate.
Yeah bruh, celibate. That shit was crazy. During this period, I decided to focus on me. I disappeared on a lot of people, but it was for the best. It wasn’t on some Eat, Pray, Love shit, but I needed to be alone with myself. I was 28 years old and I had been the girl that wore several masks, but never my own face. I was passionate about whatever the person I dated was passionate about… Well, at least to their face. I couldn’t give a shit about what any of these guys were doing. I started to go to events that made me happy. I started attending art galleries alone, because I have never really had friends that enjoyed art. I met amazing people that soon became friends. Not like high school friends that you feel like you HAVE to keep in contact with, but the friends that you laugh so hard you fart in front of, which causes more laughter. (Don’t even try to act right now). I turned into who I always wanted to be. I finally loved myself and with that love, came respect for myself too. I could look at myself in the mirror without being disappointed that I was pretending to be something else just to have company.
Annnndddd… You won’t fucking believe what happened. I fell in love. Not at once, but over time. I found someone that included me in every step of his business – not because he wanted any help, but because he wanted me there. He wanted to share the most disturbing information that he found funny or interesting, and worried that I would think he was weird… AND I LOVED IT! I FUCKING LOVED IT! I told him about my obsession with serial killers and he wasn’t afraid. He actually wanted to know more. I fell for someone not because of his potential to be someone he wasn’t currently, but because of who he was now. Seriously, this shit is great. I mean it’s frustrating, but it’s great. To give and receive the same amount (or more) of adoration and love is really fucking amazing. Which is why I get so mad when I hear about people who are unhappy in their relationships, but are so afraid of being alone that they stay. If you truly want happiness, I assure you that being alone is only temporary. You have to master yourself and your happiness first. You’re the only guaranteed person that you have until you die. Why would you not want to live a life full of love, even if it doesn’t involve another?