Where does love begin?

Is it possible to be loved by someone who wants to change you? Who doesn’t take the one you are, as-is? I doubt that… Of course there is no recipe, all I know deep inside for sure, is that I don’t ever want to see and feel myself ugly again. I won’t throw the newly re-collected crumbs of my self-confidence to the pigeons, just for the illusion of having somebody by my side.

After a very long time, today I woke up with the feeling that I’m not good enough. And again I’m scared, and again I don’t really like myself, and again it doesn’t feel good to look into the mirror. And this whole thing is just not worth it in a way. I’m afraid that if I don’t escape now, I’ll slide back deeper than where I climbed out of.

And I just don’t understand: why he can’t just throw me away or let me go? How long can the idea of love cover up everything? And finally: where does love begin? Or is it me who’s doing it wrong? Am I already so fucked up I can’t even put my feet down? I don’t even know what I want…

I would lie if I would say I love everything about him. But I would never throw it in his face. I don’t even think it over. Because the whole is what matters, not certain pieces of the whole. But if I’m observed through a lens, my pieces being split into two, tagged with post-its “I like” and “I don’t like”, then it’s a bit harder to believe the “I love you” lettering on the flag all above them. Maybe the first is called lie and the second is called honesty, but then I’m really not sure I want the truth all the way. Because sometimes it’s pretty hard for the stomach, almost impossible to digest. Or maybe I just have to get used to it. (You know, the first cut is the deepest…).

Where does love begin? How many pieces must the “I like” pile have? Or this all does not matter after all? I have to change for myself and not for someone else, even if the wishes are the same. If I’m not doing it for myself, then I’m miserable. And I never want to be miserable again. But there is already so much pain… And yes, I know I can only blame myself, but still…

Damn… what am I talking about? Even my own feelings are written in a  language I don’t speak. There is a confusion in my head and in my heart. And so much to do all around me. This is not the first time in my life that I wish I rather wouldn’t be loved. But I also know: if someone doesn’t love me the way I want to be loved, it does not mean he doesn’t love me with all his heart.

Whether I rest satisfied with it or not, is my choice. I let life decide.

~ by ronika on November 27, 2008.