Thoughts On Loving

[indigolivia]

When I was fifteen years old, I attempted suicide. I wish I could describe to you some perilous condition I was met with, or some asinine event that occurred to spark my decision to swallow two handfuls of my fathers pain medication, but that would be disingenuous. In reality, I was involved in some typical high school drama with an upperclassman, and she told me she was going to take our messages to the principal the next day at school and have me reprimanded for bullying. Knowing that my words have always been knives, and knowing that I had already been suspended once prior that year, my immediate instinct was to best her in the only way I knew how: Ending my own life. 
Dramatic, I know, but not an ill fitting for my fifteen year old self. I had lived in black and white my whole life, only choosing one extreme or the other. My reaction to my antagonist was akin to this, as were all arguments and conflicts I found myself involved in. There was no such thing as a "nonissue" or a "petty squabble" to me. I have never met a hill I would not kill myself on. 

That being said, I am older now and hindsight is 20/20. I have the wisdom now to know that these impulses are illogical, irrational, and quite frankly unable to be defended. This does not change the fact that they are impulses. They are instinctual in me. When I first attempted to analyze whatever the fuck was wrong with me, I thought I could fix myself and in turn fix my irrational emotions. I was wrong. For me, healing has looked like this: You will always feel the urge to go scorched earth over every little thing. You will always break down in a way that is not proportional to the harm done to you. You will always want to bite. You must simply learn to live with it, and control your responses to these urges enough to where you dont burn every bridge around you and end up isolated and alone, crying about abandonment. 

Easier said than done, and also followed by the harsh reality that I wont ever not feel the way I feel. I grappled with this, and it led me to make some harsh decisions for myself. I found that my intensity was best managed in certain environments. I found it easier to maintain my rationality and composure in my friendships first, and I perfected that skill. After some time, I had to apply these new restraints in my family dynamics. This was harder for me, as I had already established my reputation as angsty, short-fused, dramatic, etcetera etcetera. I took it on the chin, leaning on the fruitful products of the work I had done in my friendships, and eventually reached a place where my family was able to recognize a change in my responses to conflict. This felt like a hug to me, this felt like accomplishment. 

My line was drawn there. I realized that romantic connection would always spark these emotions in me that were felt at a level of intensity that I simply could not get over, I could not take the necessary beat and allow myself to respond in a way that would prove me a capable lover. In my other platonic dynamics, I was able to take a breathe, recognize my illogical reaction before it was too late, separate and calm myself, be a better person to whoever it was I had decided to have some issue with. Every fight in a romantic connection feels like a thread exposed on my knit sweater of emotions, and one word from a person I am attached to in that way unravels me, entirely. I feel naked, I feel vulnerable, I feel inferior because they do not have their emotional stability tied up in me in the same way, and how could they when I have long been aware that my feelings are not rational? Are not representative of the situation at hand in any capacity?

And so I lived this way, for a long time. I focused on my platonic connections, I built a beautiful life and future for myself. I perfected my role as sister, as friend, as daughter, as cousin. I bring flowers to people's apartments when I visit for the first time. I share my hash browns with the girl I sit next to every day in class. I am devout to my roles, allowing them to hold all of the weight of my heart with many many hands, instead of placing its entirety into two. A beautiful and fulfilling life can be achieved without romantic connections, I told myself. I thought everyone was only convincing themselves they simply HAD to shed their layers and allow one other person to know them fully, they simply felt implored to do so because it is everywhere and in every thing. But to me, it seemed idiotic. Why would I reach for anything more? Why would I attempt to fix something that was not broken, when I am not filled with this urge to be loved in that way? I always understood the appeal, don't misinterpret me, but the cost-benefit analysis always seemed to tip the scales in favor of abstaining from romantic connection. 

I learned everything I know about loving someone romantically through the brains of people whom I love platonically. Overwhelmingly, it seemed that our opinions diverged with one simple thing they were all seeking in their partnerships: Understanding. My friends and family were a unified front, telling me that to be loved is to be seen, understood, and wholly accepted in spite of it all. They would relay this to me with soft eyes, tender diction, so softly and endearingly that it allowed the increasing pace of my heartbeat to stand out even more. My brain does not find this idea beautiful, but rather quite terrifying? I can get naked with anyone, but I would rather be dead than to bare my soul. I have shaky hands when I clap at weddings. I have lockjaw during the vows. My friends tell me about melting when they receive tokens of affection, but flowers freeze my chest and make it painful to blink. Another set of things I cant seem to alter instinctively, but have perfected my reaction to for the sake of my platonic companions. In spite of what I may feel about their relationships, I have perfected my "Congratulations!" and my "You guys are so cute together!", and I think I am rather convincing! 

Im really not lying when I say these things to the couples I see around me either, I am a lover of love, but I am no lover. I see how it can be beautiful for so many kinds of people, but I just hope that neither of them are like me in any capacity. I watch people in love like a bonfire, but I am at least twenty feet away. I am warmed by it when it carries over to me, I smell it in my best friends hair when I hug her goodbye. The warmed masses are toasty enough to radiate some of the benefits onto me, and they notice my distance but never question me directly. If love is the bonfire the water of my womb was gasoline! I do not need to be warmed, I am only hoping not to freeze. That would be enough for me. 









I hope that is true.