Better to have never loved

 

loveloss

It’s nights like these when I am reminded of the phrase, “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” which is quickly followed by, “Try it” in my romantically cynical head.

Well I have. And I might be hotly in agreement with Men In Black’s Agent K (Tommy Lee Jones to those who have no idea what I’m referring to).

I thought at first that it was a miracle that I could ever feel the overwhelmingly wonderful emotion of “in love,” and I was surprisingly grateful. But now I take it back. It has made me lonelier than I thought possible. I am pickier than I thought imaginable. And I can’t go back to the way I was before.

I am stuck. Really stuck. And if there’s one thing I hate most, it’s being stuck.

So what do I do? I distract myself with unending work. When the unending work runs out, I distract myself with numerous friends, surrounding myself with as many companions as possible to hide the imminent isolation I would feel. That works for a good while, until my brain realizes the tricks I’m pulling on it and drags me back to reality again.

Then I distract myself with books. Books on top of books. Deep books filled with rich descriptions of worlds I will never smell, touch, or see.

I know what I’m doing. Because I am more than scared to admit that I am so human. More than scared to give my feelings a sense of reality. They, my feelings, scare me more than a demon or devil created in the Bible, more than the evil things that walk this earth, more than sharks and zombies that can eat people, and much more than death. It is they that I try so hard every day to smother into submission.

I bought a book on a friend’s request. Fifty Shades of Grey. I thought maybe the sexual nature of this book would give me the distraction I needed most: distracting the heavy, despairing loneliness which threatened to suffocate me. The book did nothing for me. And so I am left with my nights alone. Nights where my brain tries desperately to entertain me and keep me company with fantasies and pleasuring images. Dreams of seductive vampires, evil and beautiful, drawing me in with every last moment of my own breath. Dreams of the Phantom of the Opera, the true Phantom who sings to me, and hypnotizes me until I melt to his will, ‘til I succumb to his whim. Dreams of dominating men who demand my obedience simply through their tenderness.

I am craving. And it feels like I am tearing myself in two. Because I am not the type of girl to find companionship through a quick twenty-four hour time period. I am not interested in just a whimsical night with a stranger. It is my curse that I had experienced love once.

And this is why I am on Agent K’s side. It is not better to have loved and lost. Because if you have, then you must be me, lying alone in your bed, hugging your cat, or your pillow, burying yourself beneath your covers, and hoping somewhere, someday, someone will be holding you again, wanting you again, and loving you without the losing.

Ice

So I just drove forty-five minutes from Burbank to my house and it was a little past midnight. As I entered Simi Valley’s dark and quieter streets, I felt safe and, for once, felt as though home was nearby. I had, forty-five minutes earlier, just turned my back on a recent ex-boyfriend/friend/the Terminator. We hadn’t really been together for a month and a half now since our last “break up” discussion, but things between us were never solidified. At least, not what I understood of it. However, in recent weeks, we had been speaking and randomly seeing each other at convenient intervals. Needless to say, I had to make things clearer, for myself, in any case. I wasn’t going to endure another on and off relationship where the guy could never honestly love me back or truly want to be with me. Which is fine, in retrospect, because this is what happens to people. But I, personally, don’t think I have it in me to keep holding on to something so uncertain, confusing, and slippery.

I have attempted to think like a guy and enjoy the moments of uncertainty run by pure animalistic instinct. I lasted about three days of not letting my emotions get to me, and then it failed once I shared my stories with close and not-so-close friends. No matter the differences between each friends’ status, the answer was the same. “You deserve someone who WANTS to be with you.”

So, as reality clicked in on punctual time, it struck me that I was allowing myself to fall into another disastrous loop trap with an ex. This time I put my foot down, which was really hard to do, and drove away from Burbank to home, with no tears, but definitely a deep frown creasing my brow.

I knew, as I drove down the blackened highways of Southern California, that this time I was on my own. My last break up was comforted and surrounded by loyal and loving friends who did everything in their power to help me survive. Those friends still exist, but are far away and are no longer available. My parents are no longer available because, they too, are far away. This time, I’m in it alone. Just me and my cat. But really, just me.

Fortunately, in this particular case, I have become much more durable. It only frightens me a little that I have been able to cut off direct connection to deep feelings, that I have become colder inside, and that that coldness has given me the strength and confidence to move on.

What can a person do? When they have no close friends? When they have no loved ones nearby? When she must live with the fact that the man she was with didn’t want her anymore? What does a person do in order to survive the isolation? She becomes like ice, freezes over until someone decides to make her warm with the sun again.