i don’t even think that i want to be happy in love.
an epiphany that i had over the weekend that is haunting me now.

when i was little, those who abused hid behind the word love, those who took abuse hid behind the word love, those who watched abuse from the sidelines tossed the word around. love became a word for the weak and the violent, neither one positions i felt intent to play.

i don’t think i would be happy being lost in love. something would always be a little bit too much or not enough. i think that happiness equals terror for me…what most people see as happiness. happy enough to stay in one place, ‘make a home’.

i’m always running in my dreams. in my moments of thinking of what would make me the most happy, i see takeoffs and landings, running with a camera in my hand, chasing something, running from something?.

there’s a war inside of me. but i know that i don’t want the american dream…cancer didn’t make me want the american dream, living beyond the disease didn’t make me want the american dream. i don’t feel that i deserve the comfort if i’m not ready to make the promise. can anyone really say that they’ll love you forever? i’m scared of someone who can say that, of someone who wants me to say that. and it’s not because i don’t want to love, but because i’ve experienced so much terror and trauma behind that word, i know how much can change in moments that are so small. and i don’t want to make a promise and then have to keep it beyond unhappiness.

i am terrified of love the way most people see it. i’m terrified of this thing that wraps around me and chokes out my exquisite uniqueness to make me part of a ‘we’. i want to be me, love someone who is them and not mind that they sleep at night while i roam from room to room…but them not mind either.

the older that i get, the more that i survive fatal diseases, the more that i keep seeing my time here as this meteoric event. like i’m on fire, hurtling through these days, and i’m never going to be able to get it back…any of it. and i don’t want to live it doing what i think i should.

i want love. but i want my definition of it. not society’s, certainly not my family’s. i don’t share similar views on it with my friends. and my relationships keep not working. so maybe i’m wrong. but the love that i’ve known has changed me. i know that he loves me and i love him too, and this love changed me too…but the more i experience, the less that i know. and i certainly don’t know how or when to let go, or how to not let the bad that has broken me before not interfere with the good that is trying to hold me and protect me now.

love terrifies me because it is always someone who wants to look into my heart and see me, really see me, when all that i want to do is hide and break or someone who couldn’t care less that i’m wearing me on my sleeve for them while they’re taking all the things they demand for granted. i don’t know where the good goes.

i’m needy and menopausal and hormonal and hate myself for all of these things. literally…hate myself. and if i can’t love me, what’s the point of trying to believe that someone else does? i don’t know if love is what we think it is. i know it’s not some magic salve that makes everything better, takes away the loneliness just because i’m not alone. i just am not sure what it is capable of, or if i’m willing to let go and find out.