Cynical And Southern: I Desperately Want To Be Loved
I’ve learned how to put my desperation on mute. I tuck it behind my eyes. I’ve gotten so skillful at hiding my desperation that quite often I even hide it from myself. Perhaps it’s in remission.
Late lonely nights when I turn off the computer, fall onto my bed, and give my mind a break from the everyday noise, I realize that hunger is still there. The hunger to be held. The hunger to be understood. The hunger to connect. And I never do.
It’s so out of fashion to say it aloud. To stand on a mountaintop and scream at the top of your lungs “Goddamnit I want so desperately for someone to fucking love me.” These are the kind of things you are never supposed to feel. And if you feel them you aren’t supposed to. Never say it out loud. Neediness equals weakness.
Our society is rampant with slogans tailored to illustrate the point that severely wanting to be loved is bad. We’ve been told our whole lives that the only way to find love is to not want it, to not need it, and to not look for it.
“If you aren’t looking…you will find it.”
“You should love yourself before you can ever love someone else…”
“The best things come to those who wait…”
Abiding by those rules I’ve gotten it wrong my entire life. I’ve never stopped looking. I love myself a lot and am fully capable of loving someone else. And I’ve waited. And waited. And waited. It doesn’t click. I love men that don’t love me.
It’s easy to dismiss me with a quick retort suggesting I’m psychologically off, and my defense mechanisms draw me towards men who don’t love me because I don’t love myself. Or because I am afraid of being loved. Perhaps this is the case. But what if it isn’t? What if some people just truly have bad luck? What if some people’s lives are just a series of mishaps and misadventures and near-misses?
The loneliness in me is so severe I stay on my computer until 5 am so I am not left with my own thoughts. I look around me. Most of my friends’ relationships are disasterous. Either they are constantly fighting with their partner or they are broken up about an unhealthy relationship that didn’t work out. This doesn’t make me want love any less.
I am past the portion of my life devoted to broken love. I am not mourning any lost loves. I am not crushing on any new loves. I feel unemotional, void, empty, and unable to even hope about love anymore. But within this white blank numbness still lies this intense urge to connect. For something sensual. For something intense.
Tonight I will go to sleep gapingly open. Tomorrow I will wake up with my defenses on. I will be embarrassed I was vulnerable enough to tell anyone just how much I long to be loved. To admit how lonely I am. I will put on my steely smile and pretend it doesn’t hurt when the adorable boy I had a crush on ignores me. I will pretend it doesn’t sting when I see the boy I adore fighting with his boyfriend he doesn’t really love.
I used to pretend I’m a robot like I’m supposed to. I pretended so long in many ways I’ve become that robot. Except on nights like these…
So here I say out loud the most unacceptable thing possible. I WANT TO BE LOVED. Tonight. Right now. With every fucking cell of my being.
And now the masks go back on.
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