Once upon a time I was in love with a sociopath.
And despite all the fucked up parts of her…I think it was the most exciting time of my life.
Wtf does that say about me?
That sounds…”off” and not psychologically sound. I will never know if her love was passionate intensity…as I like to remember it…or twisted premature need…as a friend often called it. Considering the age gap I get the relevance.
Whatever it was it rocked me. And solid. It was followed by the safest, most pure kind of love one can manifest. And that touched me just the same. But the rest…the lukewarm relationships that I now look at as part of my growth….
They’re a text book blur. Necessary but not page turners.
Idk. I’m getting worried about my outlook on things. Like a mortician who’s become immune to dead bodies.
Love feels like a lie.
It feels dead. And idk that I want to ever worry about reviving it.
For the first time in my life I’m beginning to think it’s done more harm than good.
Am I finally…after 3 decades of starry eyed wonder…seeing what the rest of the world sees?
Have I become jaded?
Love. An occupational hazard.
I just don’t get it anymore. The point. I get the feeling, the chemical imbalance. That knot in the pit of your stomach that only goes away when they’re within inches, not miles.
I get all of it. But at the end of the day they’re going to leave…whether on foot or in a body bag. So what is the point of falling in the first place?
I know, not my usual M.O. but I’ve had a lot of time to think lately. All my friends are so….we’re all so different then the kids we used to be. Funny, I feel 16 somedays…lately…emotionally. But I’m nothing like that girl. She was so tough, and strong…and yet…somehow still pure at heart.
Is this what comes with age?
Apparently I’ve got this wall around me…a girl…ok, actually a few girls have told me recently. And I’ve said that to someone myself not too long ago. But it feels funny hearing it…rather then saying it.
It’s not intentional.
I’ve got trust issues.
Not to mention, the shit that goes down once you let them in. Once inside they can creep up all over you. Get into little nooks and crannies you forgot even existed.
And the other thing about letting people in…at some point they might want out.
This is my logical attempt at shutting the door on that part of myself.
Besides, I belong in a mental institution, not a relationship. I self medicate with Women.
My heart feels like the crime scene of a copycat killer. When I close my eyes I imagine being on my hands and knees…scrubbing with bleach…to rid myself of the bloodshed. But even worse, the culprit must be dealt with.
That is when I end up back at point A. Is “it” the enemy? Or I? A combination of the two? If I eliminate a huge part of what has made me who I am…will I survive?
Must I deadbolt the doors to my walls again?
I’ve gotten this far before a hiccup.
Now, I wonder…how many bottles of bleach will it take?