It’s absolutely the most miserable thing in the world to love someone and to think they could never love you back…because you’re unlovable, and you don’t know how to ‘do’ love right.
It’s gut-wrenchingly, heart-tearingly awful to know that you hold them precious in your sight, that you cherish and adore them, and would love to tell them, but fear your declaration would be met with ridicule, pity, or disgust.
It’s an occasion for self-loathing for being so weak to find yourself feeling warmth for someone who is clearly better off without you in their life, it’s shameful to care when there’s no way on earth your love, your self, could ever be tolerable…far less acceptable, or (dare to dream) wanted.
It’s something to resign yourself to when people say they care about you, but you can only understand that somehow they feel obliged to bear your presence in their life, and you do your best to make yourself as unobjectionable as possible, having realised just how very objectionable you are, and how burdensome, how much you need to be accommodated, because somehow you’re THERE.
It’s a ghastly inheritance from whatever set of circumstances gave rise to the feeling – in my case, systemic undermining, abuse, bullying, and isolation. It’s something which leaves you tarnished and only certain of yourself as some kind of blight. It’s something which instills unshakeable knowledge of yourself as an affliction to be borne.
You stand on the outside of warm, loving relationships, looking in, hands and face pressed against the glass, greedily absorbing the knowledge that for some people, love is a beautiful, nurturing, cherishing thing. It affirms and encourages, it delights and rejoices and builds up. It sparkles and thrives and wraps its participants in beautiful, shining light.
Your hands and feet go numb as your breath fogs the glass, and you feel the tendrils of darkness reach over your shoulder to establish their death-grip again, tugging you from the bright, pipe-dream fairytale. Choruses of malicious laughter echo through your soul as spectres of your past point and laugh, circling you, taunting you, for how could YOU ever imagine yourself worthy of a place within that light, within that love?
How DARE you even consider it? People like YOU don’t get lovely things like that. People like YOU don’t, couldn’t ever, couldn’t POSSIBLY for one moment be worth it. And who, WHO would even think of wasting something as precious as their love, on YOU? Who on earth would think you worthwhile? Who on earth could bring themselves to care, even a little bit? Much less LOVE you?
The voices were overwhelming. The darkness was crowding in. I was settling ever deeper into the knowledge that I would never, could never, be loveable…and then SHE reached in…
The piece shared at Hasty’s, as part of her #BeREALationships series, is one I’ve been hiding for about a year…because I’ve been scared. I’ve been worried it made me ridiculous, or vulnerable, or exposed me as the unworthy, unlovable monster I believed myself to be…before her friendship and love made all the difference. So, I’m being real. I’m being open. No matter what, I’m a firm believe in real, true love, and all its wonderfulness…because I’ve experienced its transforming powers in ways I never thought possible. And just…just look at me LOVE, these days!
We also created something together – a very special something which you can have for yourself and make even specialler for someone YOU love…