Living with one self
This is complex. All my life, I’ve chased love to have someone to think about, someone to seduce, to stalk. I never took the time to live alone with myself. To only take care of me. I don’t know why I need outside attention so much, when I could apply my supernatural ability of caring for others to myself. I am able to stay stuck in a relationship that isn’t even a real one, to take care of him as if he was a lost and fragile child, to anticipate and react to every need he could ever have, until I forget my own name. Losing myself in others is what I do. It is pathological.
I don’t understand this incapacity to lose me within myself. Maybe it would imply finding myself first, and I don’t want to face the reality of my existence, of my desires. By fear of being unable to materialize them. By lack of courage, resource, ambition. By laziness. By fear of failure. By fear of being in need. It would be like saying I am avoiding my own person. Am I not good enough company?
I once wrote about the void that is actually space, about nostalgia when I dream about forgetting my past to stop thinking about it, I wrote about my body, about love, and I am not even able to freaking love myself. I thought I had solved so many problems and yet, tonight is like going back to square one in the debulking of my beliefs, of my neurosis.
Like if I was stuck again in the matrix. I have started eating with caution as if I was going to break the scale again. I’ve started hanging on to the wrong person again. I don’t learn from my mistakes and I wander in the big everything that is the universe, and when I thought I understood, I took the wrong way again. I am now lost in the everything and the nothing with my caravan full of emotion, overflowing.
How do we love ourselves? I don’t talk about going to a spa or these kinds of craps that sit on the surface. I speak about that moment when you dive in your soul to stare at it in the eyes, that moment when you accept to see the black and the white, the brilliance and the cracks. That moment when you see everything that is wrong, rolling up your sleeves to fix it. To fix you. Alone, without any help, because nobody but you can solve your issues. Picking up a fight with the problem instead of avoiding them or transferring them to other people as if they were the ones that needed fixing. Like if it was beyond belief to accept our flaws.
We often say that love is about falling for the other person’s flaws. We rarely say we fall in love with ours. Yet, wouldn’t it be a logical answer to love our own? Wouldn’t it be the beginning of the moment we manage to live with ourselves, finally?
