“We accept the love we think we deserve.”
For the longest time I refused to believe that this quote had any sort of validity what-so-ever. I refused this idea for a number of reasons, but mostly I just did not want to take responsibility for my own failed relationships. I didn’t want to accept that it was maybe my fault I had been broken up with 6 times in the last 6 years. I didn’t want to accept the series of never-ending heartache; the ebb and flow of a heart getting attached and detached and reattached to another. I didn’t want to accept that it was my fault I had been cheated on, and my fault I was left depressed and anxious and destroyed. Crushed beneath the weight of it all. A million scattered pieces. I couldn’t accept my own weaknesses; my reliance on others for approval. The need for confirmation that I wasn’t a completely useless fuck up. I couldn’t accept that I had settled simply for the sake of repairing my own deflated sense of self-worth.
At the time, I struggled to establish the existence of that very fine line between driving the hand that hits, and standing in the way of it after you realize it’s about to collide with your face. Is there a difference between action and inaction? I couldn’t be sure so instead I felt all of it. Every failure, every pang of guilt. Every insecurity. I welcomed all of it into my heart, openly, without discrimination. I let these things infiltrate my deepest thoughts. I let them wrap their cold, bony fingers around the last bits of self-esteem that my mother tried to instill in me; let them cling desperately onto me until what remained inside of me was all but recognizable. A lot of people use the expression “a shell of what I once was”, but I wasn’t a shell. I wasn’t empty, or hollow, or void of emotion. Not even remotely. I was a complicated mix of a thousand other people’s damning disappointments. A thousand excuses. A thousand broken hearts. I was not a shell. My inner being was completely saturated with mistakes, unrequited love, things I dared to dream that were far too great for the scope of me, other people’s mistakes, other people’s unrequited love, other people’s unfulfilled dreams.
I couldn’t believe “we accept the love we think we deserve”, because believing it meant I thought very little of myself. And it also meant that I willingly allowed these things into my life, and as a result of my inaction, I let the hand make contact. These are things you cannot feel when you are trying to find strength within yourself. When you are trying to connect with your own intrinsic worth.
So, I left blame where blame was due. At the source.
But did that make me happy?
No.
And did that send me into the arms of someone better?
No. Not initially.
All it did was create a host of unrealistic expectations and caused me to project those expectations onto my partner. Disappointment followed suit, as one can imagine.
So now what?
Okay, so we really do accept the love we think we deserve. I get it. You can’t expect anybody to be anything. You fall in love with someone and you accept their flaws and that’s it. If they’re shit, you leave. But when you truly, truly think you deserve nothing (or less than nothing), even when it’s perfect, you find flaws. Make excuses. You hold onto depression and anxiety and broken hearts like they are goddamn security blankets; they make for really good fucking excuses not to get out of bed in the morning or get involved with anybody who wants to love you. And you hold onto those flaws, and you hold onto those excuses, and you push. Push for the sake of pushing. Push because you are convinced you are a completely fucking unlovable human being. Push so that whoever has decided to love you, doesn’t ever see the things you do when you look at yourself in the mirror. Push so that you never have to be vulnerable, or afraid, or sad. Push so that nobody can break you. Because everyone ends up breaking you. Keep pushing until all of the good things are completely removed from your life, so that you can justify your own emotions. So that it starts to make sense. So that you can cling to that depression security blanket and avoid all the fucking unanswerable “why?’s”. “I don’t know” is not an answer. Push away every single goddamn thing that could bring any sort of meaning to your life, because good things force you to face the bad things that you don’t feel strong enough to face yet. And especially push away everyone who wants to help you be strong. Because you are too busy stubbornly holding onto the stigma that people need to have it all figured out before they’re allowed to let anybody into their life.
Then find somebody who feels the exact same way. See how much pushing results.
When will we ever be ready to let each other in?
I guess that’s the nature of the fucking beast though, isn’t it?
I wish any of that made sense.
