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Description

I suppose I don’t understand how to love properly.

The desire to be near people suffocates me, but it seems I am clumsier with affection than disdain.

Maybe I’m a magnet facing the wrong way. Maybe I haven’t found the South to my North yet. But the truth of it all, is that I’m lonely.

I’m not naïve enough to state that I’m alone. I’m not, and I know it. To a therapist I would have many environmental strengths and supports. To a counselor I would have a life that just needs some rearranging to achieve happiness.

But to me there is an abyss. And I am at the bottom of it.

I see the people around me, scattered along the wall at different heights. Some days they are more accessible than others, but in the majority of time I cannot reach them. I may venture to call out. But they only reply to an echo of the person I was when I needed them.

Maybe that is how He sees me. As someone new along the wall of his abyss.

He is broken in ways that I don’t understand. I don’t know his story as well as I would like to. Yet there is something resembling a reflection of myself in him, and I have started to cling to it.

I don’t need his constant attention.

I don’t want him at my beck and call.

I’m not looking for a relationship.

But I want to know that maybe what I am drawn to in him is something he sees in me.

I spent Valentine’s Day in a funk. Made plans with people only so I wouldn’t be alone. Thought a thousand things through a million times. We treated ourselves to a nice dinner then went to spoil our livers. After some liquid courage had entered my system, I messaged him. The reality of being lonely was far more terrifying than being embarrassed.

And he came.

He was taken aback at my surprise that he made time for me. The anxiety I had of him avoiding me melted away throughout the evening, but it was slow.

It seems I have to be fucked up to be normal with him.

Being physically close with him made me brave enough to ask questions. To make statements. And to listen to what he had to say in response.

I worry now that I came across in ways I don’t want to. But those whispers are quiet at the moment. Manageable.

He enjoys spending time with me because we can do something. We can do nothing. And it is comfortable.

When I don’t message him he assumes that I don’t want to talk to him.

He is trying to sort out his life right now. Adjusting to new places, new people. He said he was mentally distracted.

He finally is back on medication at a lower dose. And it’s going to take time to function.
To be him again.

Meanwhile, I crave the brokenness inside him. I want to interact with it, to feel like something in my life makes sense and can validate what I experience. I want to drown in the feeling of chaos that surrounds him and I as a whole.

But he comes and goes.

He is a presence to experience one day, and a memory to savor the next. He is a friend, then a lover, then a ghost.

So I asked if he was going to disappear.

He said never.

So I asked who I was in his mind.

He said I was a great person. I was caring. I was fun.

So I told him he was important to me.

He said I was important to him.

So we slept next to each other. And it was the most rest I have gotten in weeks.
I didn’t go to class in the morning, and when he asked why I explained I had never gotten to experience the morning with him.

And it was something okay to be said.

I left before him.

Before I did, he said having a Valentine was stupid. He told me he had resolved himself to sitting alone and having a typical night.

It was the best Valentine’s Day either of us have had in years. And we practically did nothing

Am I romanticizing something that many people would see as nothing special?

Maybe.

Am I falling in love with fragments of a shattered person who will most likely leave me more broken than I already am?

Probably.

I suppose I don’t understand how to love properly.

Description

I suppose I don’t understand how to love properly.

The desire to be near people suffocates me, but it seems I am clumsier with affection than disdain.

Maybe I’m a magnet facing the wrong way. Maybe I haven’t found the South to my North yet. But the truth of it all, is that I’m lonely.

I’m not naïve enough to state that I’m alone. I’m not, and I know it. To a therapist I would have many environmental strengths and supports. To a counselor I would have a life that just needs some rearranging to achieve happiness.

But to me there is an abyss. And I am at the bottom of it.

I see the people around me, scattered along the wall at different heights. Some days they are more accessible than others, but in the majority of time I cannot reach them. I may venture to call out. But they only reply to an echo of the person I was when I needed them.

Maybe that is how He sees me. As someone new along the wall of his abyss.

He is broken in ways that I don’t understand. I don’t know his story as well as I would like to. Yet there is something resembling a reflection of myself in him, and I have started to cling to it.

I don’t need his constant attention.

I don’t want him at my beck and call.

I’m not looking for a relationship.

But I want to know that maybe what I am drawn to in him is something he sees in me.

I spent Valentine’s Day in a funk. Made plans with people only so I wouldn’t be alone. Thought a thousand things through a million times. We treated ourselves to a nice dinner then went to spoil our livers. After some liquid courage had entered my system, I messaged him. The reality of being lonely was far more terrifying than being embarrassed.

And he came.

He was taken aback at my surprise that he made time for me. The anxiety I had of him avoiding me melted away throughout the evening, but it was slow.

It seems I have to be fucked up to be normal with him.

Being physically close with him made me brave enough to ask questions. To make statements. And to listen to what he had to say in response.

I worry now that I came across in ways I don’t want to. But those whispers are quiet at the moment. Manageable.

He enjoys spending time with me because we can do something. We can do nothing. And it is comfortable.

When I don’t message him he assumes that I don’t want to talk to him.

He is trying to sort out his life right now. Adjusting to new places, new people. He said he was mentally distracted.

He finally is back on medication at a lower dose. And it’s going to take time to function.
To be him again.

Meanwhile, I crave the brokenness inside him. I want to interact with it, to feel like something in my life makes sense and can validate what I experience. I want to drown in the feeling of chaos that surrounds him and I as a whole.

But he comes and goes.

He is a presence to experience one day, and a memory to savor the next. He is a friend, then a lover, then a ghost.

So I asked if he was going to disappear.

He said never.

So I asked who I was in his mind.

He said I was a great person. I was caring. I was fun.

So I told him he was important to me.

He said I was important to him.

So we slept next to each other. And it was the most rest I have gotten in weeks.
I didn’t go to class in the morning, and when he asked why I explained I had never gotten to experience the morning with him.

And it was something okay to be said.

I left before him.

Before I did, he said having a Valentine was stupid. He told me he had resolved himself to sitting alone and having a typical night.

It was the best Valentine’s Day either of us have had in years. And we practically did nothing

Am I romanticizing something that many people would see as nothing special?

Maybe.

Am I falling in love with fragments of a shattered person who will most likely leave me more broken than I already am?

Probably.

I suppose I don’t understand how to love properly.