photo by me.

She writes,

“I think no one would stay with me if I allowed myself to be who I am, and so I don’t, and it’s the daily hiding that’s so hard, so tiring, and so lonely.

How do you keep the monsters from touching the ones you love? You don’t love. You keep a cool distance from everyone, even those closest to you, and keep your monsters to yourself.”

I get that. I understand it. I’m thirty-eight years old and I’ve never been in love. I’ve loved…and I’ve loved deeply…but it’s never been an “in love” thing.

Those first relationships taught me not to let people too close. People knowing too much about you can be a dangerous thing.

She says,

“Sometimes it’s hard to believe people truly love you, isn’t it? When your entire life has been spent hearing people’s voices say they love you, but their actions tell you it’s only the external shell they love, because when your internal self comes out to play they run, still loving the outside, but unable to deal with the inside.”

And I think this is the problem. People throw the word “love” around like it’s nothing. “I love you.” Do you really? Do you know what that means? Why do you hurt me, then? Why is it so easy for you to hurt me when you say you love me?

I doubt I’ve ever been truly loved back. I’ve had people tell me that they love me, that they are in love with me. I’m not sure if they were, though, or if they understood what that meant. Or maybe, for them, they were and I just expect too much from someone who says “I love you.”

I have a feeling I may never find that elusive love. There are too many obstacles. I searched the world for it and have ended up coming home to live like a recluse with my dog because love, to me, means pain.

And I don’t want to hurt anymore.