I don’t know about you, but I am scared as hell to feel something for someone.
I’ve been screaming to the whole world that I don’t know what love is and how it feels, but the minute I start thinking about particular man or dating someone new – it is like I’m trying to catch the bullet. I do not dodge, not at all. I expect it to hit me, I expect it to hit me so hard that I fall and my organs tear and I feel every bit of it, and when the bullet reaches my heart – I anticipate the excruciating pain of dying and the relief that comes after it.
I walk down the overcrowded street and I don’t hear the chatter of the old people in the variation of restaurants offering mediocre food to even less mediocre people. Sometimes I get pretentious like that in a mere hope to escape the same destiny. I fear mediocrity.
I’ve been told I am kind, nice and beautiful. And even though all the facts lead to those adjectives as conclusions and bottom lines of my personality, it is far from a description I give myself. I say “thank you,” because apparently that is a polite way in this world. But I don’t want to be polite. I don’t want to say “thank you.” I want to yell and scream and be arrogant for once.
I want to be the way I feel, not the way I have to be. I am scared people won’t accept the “me” I hide. I am scared someone very dear to my heart won’t understand me. I am scared of the hate I bestow on myself.
I didn’t pity him as I hugged his crying being. I felt bad and I felt nothing at the same time. A guy I just met a short couple of weeks ago fell for me and cried in my embrace. How did it happen and how did I get myself into this, I wouldn’t know. He is only two years younger than me but he feels like a couple generations away. I like him and I understand him. But he is too oblivious to hear and understand me. In comparison to my place in this world, he is still in kindergarten. To my biggest regret, he has to go through this pain to come out the other side and understand a couple of things for himself. I am afraid I can’t help him, however I try, however I want to.
I’ve been chasing ghosts since I remember. The trace of a person I used to be. A shadow of that little girl in a blue combo on the first day of school, crying. I cried a lot back then. Frankly, it’s like I never stopped. The tingling in my eyes and the hurt in my nose always pour out of the eyes – overrated, devastated, salty drops. I’ve been hurt so much I can’t remember. But my eyes do, because they are the ones who exhausted themselves all those nights back at home trying to find a safe haven in my pillow. But there was always another thing the next morning. There will be another thing next week. And maybe I have grown enough, but my sensitivity grew with me.
I am scared of being diminished and pulled apart.
At this point in my life, I am as independent as I can be. Unfortunately for me, I hate it. This adult life and responsibilities are too much. Some people like freedom and being able to do whatever they want without parental judgment. But I wish I was just a kid and someone would take care of everything for me. All I would need to do is eat my food, sleep and play around. Those years when I had to sleep in the middle of the day were the best. They came with a lot of salt as well, but now, it certainly seems like luxury. Since then, I’ve moved on and need my parents less and less with every single day. And still I remember walking from university to the subway and talking to my mom on the phone about another catastrophe with my “B” grade. I had a “valedictorian” complex. But one doesn’t get good grades at university because one studies hard. Sometimes it was just preferential treatment. My mom was my only real friend. She still is. Although over the years we’ve talked less and less. I miss her. I am scared we will never be as close as we were back then. I am scared I won’t have time to spend with my parents. Not enough time. I am scared when they die, I’ll die with them, because I wouldn’t want to live in a world without them.
Fear is an interesting concept. Sometimes the more we fear certain things – the more probable those things would occur.
With some events, you can never know.
I can’t help but think about love and the fear of either never being in love, or the fear of loosing it. I am as unsure about love as anyone can ever be, but I find myself realizing that maybe I feel it already. Maybe this is exactly how love feels? Maybe being scared to feel something for someone lead me precisely to that?
I don’t know what I’m talking about, I don’t know anything about love and still I find the voice in my head telling me: “You love him”.
And I am still afraid.