Often, when I rant, it's inspired by a conversation that I've had with someone...and this rant is no different. I'm certain that the people involved will know who they are...and some other people will probably figure it out, but that doesn't mean that I want to see some sort of drama emerge from this post. On the contrary, I'm simply trying to put into words something that I hope will be of help to someone.
I have this friend. No, really. He's really my friend. He is the sweetest, kindest, most giving person I know...but that doesn't seem to help him in the whole "romance" department. He doesn't seem to understand why it never works out for him. He's been told that he's TOO sweet, kind, and giving...and that, to get chicks, he should be an asshole. I don't think that's true. I mean, why would any woman actually WANT an asshole?
Here's my theory. He tries to hard. He's looking for someone to be with and, to that end, he'll pretty much literally go to the end of the earth to find that. He's willing to overlook huge differences, and possibly even utter incompatibility, just so that he doesn't have to be alone.
I've been there. I've done that.
I spent years going from one bad relationship to another just because I didn't want to be alone. I wanted so badly to feel like someone gave a shit about me. The value I placed on myself was determined by the concept of someone else "loving" me. I should have been more worried about whether I loved myself. I mean, if I couldn't bear to live with myself, how was anyone else going to be able to do it?
To this end, I dated a string of, for lack of a better word, losers. I wasted years of my life with men that, if I met them today, I wouldn't even look twice at. One was an active alcoholic with trust issues so huge that he used to literally follow me places to ensure that I wasn't meeting up with another guy whenever I left the house AND he would dig through my trash for signs that someone else had been at my house while he was at work. Another was a recovering meth addict who had made the crossover to being a giant pothead. He didn't really seem to care what or who I did, as long as he got something out of it. Then there was the schizophrenic, hyperactive, multiple personality guy...who, by the way, was amazing in bed...and a bit exhausting everywhere else. Looking back, I guess I was somehow seeking out broken guys, thinking that maybe I could fix them...and fix myself in the process. It didn't work.
For me, the cure for what ailed me was slow in coming and entailed a complete change in my life. In fact, it took about 3 years of being alone and having to spend every waking minute with myself. It took the realization that I didn't need someone else to tell me how wonderful I was. I already knew it. I stopped looking in other people for what was missing in me, because nothing was missing. What I had been looking for had been there all along.I'd just never taken the time to look in the mirror long enough to find it. And, once I'd found that intangible thing inside myself, I stopped looking elsewhere. I mean...I stopped looking for someone else to be with to complete me.
I wish that my friend would do that.
I still don't want to be alone. But I'm not going to lower my standards to that end. I've become VERY picky. I have always been a trusting and open person with nothing to hide...and I like that about myself and refuse to change it, but there are walls inside of me that weren't there before. I look for faults in people and, instead of trying to fix them, I just pass on by. If someone's not already the person that I want, I'm not going to try to make them into that. I don't want to have to work for something that should already be there.
Love, whatever that is, shouldn't be so hard. It should be something that slides over you easily and comfortingly...like a favorite blanket. And, to use a metaphor that a certain someone seems to like, you can't force the puzzle pieces to fit where they're not meant to. When you do, all you get is frayed edges and a picture that doesn't make sense.
I told someone recently that I can't find anything wrong with him. What I meant by that is that I've LOOKED. I've searched high and low for faults in him...chinks in his armor...pieces that don't fit. But, try as I might, every piece seems to slide right into place.
He has walls, but I'm fascinated by the thought of what lies behind them. The door is closed, but it isn't locked, and through the peephole I can catch glimpses of a place that looks warm and comfortable. I see enough to know that I want to be inside there.
I hope he'll let me in. I could use a bit of shelter from the storm.
I tell my friend that he should just stop looking so hard for someone else to make him feel whole. Maybe he's just so used to taking care of other people that he doesn't know how to just take care of himself. I hope that he figures out how to do that. He deserves to be happy.
As for me, I'm just going to sit here outside of this door and wait for it to open. I can't think of anything I'd rather do. And, I have the extra time on my hands.
Besides, it's not as if I can't keep myself entertained in the meantime...sitting out here all alone.
I'm in very good company.
