Saturday, January 22, 2011

Love is Just Another Four Letter Word

     I have another blog, which I like to think I direct my more dreamy, superficial ideas and notions. This blog, I believe, I'll save for rants and the pouring out of my heart, as silly and cliched as that sounds. I doubt this will be read by anyone other then me, which is just fine. I'll consider it my journal of sorts. My private little empty page upon which to be as angry, loving, and thoughtful as I desire to be. I'll use as many four-lettered-words as I wish. No pictures, just words.
     I wish I had a direction in life. I'm not one of those people who say this so as to convey a sort of wistful, hopeless, helplessness that might inspire one to want to help me. I say this with a sort of fierce desperation, a determination that is filled with hope. I have vague ideas, of course. Someday, I wish for a family. I want someone who loves me so intensely that every glance between us is a declaration of our passion. But on everything else, I can't decide. I think I may want a nice house, or perhaps an apartment in the city. Maybe I would like to stay at home with my children, but maybe I would prefer to be working, coming home in the evening and kissing my husband hello, and snuggle with the kids and play before sending them off to bed. Those things are things I shall work out eventually, I suppose. The only thing I want in life, the only thing I'm certain of, is that I want to be loved.
How silly of me, you think. How perfectly unassuming of me. Of course everyone wants to be loved. Of course. I myself have loved, loved a boy so feverishly and resolutely that I wanted it to be a secret. We would love each other, I imagined, and it would be ours. Of course, I never was really sure I was in love, at the time. I felt strongly for him, it's true. But I had never been in love before. How should I have known that the feeling was something that could almost destroy a person.  After things went bad with the boy ( he did not love me, it turned out, but instead was fooling around with another girl), I could hardly function. A nice, stable depression settled in me. It took me a very, very long time to stop thinking about this boy. He toyed with me for months after it was over, sending me deliciously charming texts every few weeks. I replied, of course, desperate for some contact. I transferred schools, and sure enough, he did too. I only saw him once, and he didn't see me. Today, I found out where he lives. I recently got a new apartment, and on the walk in to campus, I walked past a house, with his car sitting outside. I know it is his car, because it is the same car that I rode in, laughed in, kissed in- the same car that made my stomach flip when I saw it in the parking lot after our relationship ended. I sought it out every time I pulled into the parking lot, every day of school, because I needed that reassuring twist in my stomach to confirm that I had not, in fact, dreamt it all up.
     Love. As children, we were taught that love was magical, that love would turn you into princesses. That love was worth waiting for, that love could change everything. That may be true. Honestly, I'm still a little bitter on the whole topic. I associate love with abandonment, and I know that sounds corny. Maybe I just need to learn how to trust again. For the longest time I considered love to be the dirtiest four-lettered word I could think of. I resolved to never put everything I have into a person, to care so much. I wanted to be a shell. To separate myself so as to never be so hurt again. And for a very long while, that worked for me. I didn't feel anything towards men, except distrust. Of course I had my best guy friend, Jeremiah, who is undoubtedly one of the best friends I think I shall ever have. But Jeremiah aside, I distrusted men. Oh, I flirted and toyed, teased. I wanted the attentions of every boy in my class, every man who walked into my work was a target, a test to see what I could do to him. It became a game for me. I came to realize that I could look at a boy, a man a certain way, make my eyes light up just right, something would happen. I only had to curve my lips, bite into something, smile just the right way, and somehow I became magnetic, charming. I did this all last semester. Over break, I came to realize something- this is not the kind of girl I was raised to be. I realized I was weary of the explicit text messages I recieved, the toying, the games which led to nothing, or everything. I realized that by refusing to look for love, by taking anything I could get, by willingly and shamelessly opening myself up (vulnerable in my confidence, my ability) , I was only hurting myself.  I was becoming empty, unable to muster even the faintest of feelings for men, other then to view them as a toy, an experiment, a test of my skills. I was unable to feel anything for men. And I had once felt so much passion. So I resolved- this semester I shall feel again. And so, I am trying to change. Oh, of course I flirt, I flirt very much still. But I don't do it for sport, for a distraction of the uneasiness of being me. I do it with purpose, with feeling behind it. I may not want something to arise from it, and some days, when I pull out all the charm, I come to surprise myself with the power that I have, as meaningless and surface-y  as it may be. But while I love flirting with everyone, making simple things important and complex and meaningful, I do want to find something more lovely then just toying. And so I've been trying to be better. And though it's the only second week of school, I've not done very well. Both weekends I've disappointed myself, as much fun as I have. And yes, I was satisfied, I was coy, I was in perfect form. But I felt guilty. Annoyed with myself. So I'm really trying to be better, ad to prove it to myself, I did something that I don't usually do. Tonight, I decided to not go out. I'm not in the mood to pretend and act. No, I am at my friend's apartment, watching a movie, and I feel good. Safe, cozy, and in wonderful company. I feel good, and that's a great thing to be able to say.