I love you like I love the sea. And I’m ok with drowning.
I know it’s super pretentious when I begin a blog entry (while we’re at it, not just blog entries but anything I do, really) but I’ve been mulling over this I Wrote This For You entry since I read it. I am not at all ballsy, I guess you’ve already known this from previous posts, but I found myself in a five-minutes-of-insane-courage moment when I read (x 100) those two distracting sentences.
I then had a mini-convo with myself. It’s mostly about growing a pair of balls and just openly submit to a person of the opposite sex I am extremely attracted to; to absolutely disregard the fact that – just like any emotionless motherfucker – he will get bored and I will be left with zero dignity and self respect.
As much as I hate to admit, I used to be that girl. I opened my heart to countless douchefaces in my past and ended up ugly crying in the middle of night with sad bastard music blasting on the speakers. It went on for what seemed like a decade and I thought I wasn’t learning anything from past experiences because I. keep. doing. it. I believed I was the girl who loves unceasingly until the other person grows tired of my sappy self and I’ll be okay with it. By okay I mean get trashed after school (or skip, fuck school), abandon your friends and family because they don’t understand you’re hurting, rinse, and repeat.
I changed, alright. I did and that scared me, too. The changes weren’t drastic or anything. What frightened me was the realization I was magically turned to be that dude Rob Fleming – a character from Nick Hornby’s novel, “High Fidelity”. Yeppers, that guy who always had one foot out the door. I focused on myself, constantly asking What’s in it for me? when faced with a situation that involved my committing but I didn’t fully commit to anything or anyone; I was swimming in the middle of yes and no. I was the or.
Upon realizing how much of a wuss I am becoming, I tried to be less selfish and be more normal. Still trying. Working on that with a badly scarred heart is like walking the Great Wall of China. You will always find yourself wanting to not finish the damn trip because the steps are steep, your legs are tired, your joints hurt, you’re sweating like a pig, and you need comfort, goddamn it. You want your space where it is safe and familiar. Your turf where you need not exert effort to achieve anything because standards have been extremely lowered to the point that anything will do.
But we all know what it is that’s hindering you from getting to the other end of that world wonder: you are afraid. Scared shitless that you won’t make it, that it’s not worth it, that you won’t feel just as accomplished as your fellow walkers.
And now we go back to deciphering the mystery behind my exaggerated amusement to that quote. Does it mean I am ready to put an end to my wimp phase? Or was I just incredibly entertained to know that there are human beings capable of loving like one loves the sea? The kind of love sans any kind of guard despite the knowledge of drowning and, possibly, dying.
The truth is I don’t know.
It’s a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation”. If you love with no boundaries, you’re gonna get hurt. If you remain meh and not letting people in, you’re gonna die alone (or live the rest of your life with regret). Am I ready to let people in? Yes, I am. But I am not my seventeen-year old self anymore; I guess I know better now.
I actually prefer being alone but time will come when having a person next to me won’t be for the sake of just having someone. There will be this unexplained connection between this person and I that having him around will feel like everything makes sense. And in this devastating world of hurting and manipulation, there’s only a few you make connections with so I guess it’s worth it being okay with loving a person like one loves the sea. It’s going to happen anyway, so why cockblock myself?
Eventually, I will cave in to drowning and it will be enough.