Sometimes...I try to make myself sit in the sadness.
Not to give in to it, only to make it worse.  But rather, to process.  To understand that I'm feeling what I'm feeling, and to try to figure out why I feel that way.  If there's a reason.  And if not, to just...let it be.

But I can't do that this time.
I feel it so deeply inside of me.  Like it's a disease clawing its way from my insides towards the outside.  Depraving the earth inside of me of life, causing my very being to become like the parched desert ground.  Dry and cracked and screaming for relief from the rains.

There is a lump in my throat that won't go away.  My heart feels like it's located in my stomach, and the cavity of my chest is filled with worry and heartache and terror.  I can't cry, because I am done being so weak all the time.  And if I let that dam loose, it won't ever stop.


I am restless.
I can't focus.
I can't sleep.
Even if my body hurts, I cannot seem to be able to rest.


(I am terrified.)


I guess this is a side affect of love.
To be sick with worry.  To not be able to sleep when the one who holds your heart isn't beside you at night.  To feel restless from the heavy sadness that sets over you from being apart.


Who knew loving someone so fiercely and so deeply would cause so much pain and heartache and worry over the grief of their absence and terror that they won't return to you?





I want to die.

If I ever question if I love my husband, I just have to look at the evidence.  How things he does or says frustrate me.  How hurt I get over the smallest of things (well, small to him, anyhow).  How terrified I am of losing him, or feel like I'm going to lose my mind if I am apart from him.

Because the evidence is all there.  It points to the fact that I love him.  Fiercely.  If I didn't love him, all the stupid fights we have, the frustration and hurt that I feel, well...it simply wouldn't be there.  If I didn't love him, those things wouldn't matter, they wouldn't bother me, and I would simply ignore it and continue on with my life.


Perhaps that's how you know you love someone.  You know that they are capable of so much more than they think or realize.  You see all their potential.  And you want to spur them towards being the best they can be.  So when they do things that you know are beneath them, things you know they're better than, it frustrates you.  You know...you KNOW...they can do better.  Be better.

If only.
If only.
If only.


For the past three-ish years, I have acknowledged that I do not know how to receive love.  I do not know how to accept it.  On the flip side, I also know that I do not know how to love.

And it has made me constantly question "do I love this person?  Am I capable of love?  Is this what love is?  Perhaps it's all just made up in my head, and I'm pretending to know something about something I know nothing about."

It feels like it's made up in my head.
It feels like I have no idea how to love, how to show love, how to give it, how to live it.


It didn't always used to be that way.  I remember when I was younger the aching I felt to just want to be known.  To be seen.  And I remember realising that even if I didn't feel that way, I wasn't about to let the people in my life feel that way.
I remember seeing myself as overflowing with love.  Having so much of it within me, but not being able to pour it out on people around me, for one reason or another.  Either from rejection, or preemptively not wanting to be rejected, from not wanting to come on as too strong or crazy, and whatever else there may have been.

So over the years, it became more difficult to give away.  It was still there - that love - wanting to just find sources to receive it.  But there were none.  And so, I think, it slowly dried up.  To have this big, overflowing well of love within me, and having no one to come drink from it, having people reject the source of the well...I guess it was only natural for it to dry up and cease to exist.

And now I'm here.  Constantly questioning if I'm tricking myself and those around me that I am capable of love.  That I know what love looks like.  That I know how to accept it.  That I know how to give it.


As stated at the beginning of this post, I guess I know it's there, to some extent, due to the constant hurt and frustration I feel.  Because that's evidence that I care.  But it still feels very...fake, I guess, to me.  Like I'm pretending to know what I'm doing when I actually don't.  I'm just some robot in disguise as a human, miming everything I see all the other humans do, in order to fit in and not stand out.  But really having no emotion attached to anything I'm doing.


I don't know.
I don't really know anything these days.
That is to say, I know my fuck-ups and my failures and how greatly I contribute to the misery of those around me, but apart from that, I don't know anything.

Such is life, I guess.

How do you live with the knowledge that you aren't wanted? That you aren't desired?

I don't know.
I don't think you can.

If I figure it out, I'll let you know.