Loving Somebody, Failing at Love

This is a journal entry from about ten years ago — back when I had tried at love, really tried, and came out of it disappointed. Again. I was tired. Tired of hoping, tired of hurting. Writing this was my way of releasing something I had held onto for far too long. It’s raw, it’s honest, and it still speaks to parts of me today — even if I’ve grown since then.

JD2015:

This constant yearning to be with a man — does it ever stop?
Does it diminish as we age?
How much older do I have to be to get over it?
When does this want expire?

Because honestly, I don’t want it anymore.
I just want freedom from the desire.
I’ve been enslaved for so long by this longing — this hope, this promised land of happiness.
Maybe this is what a dead end feels like…

All I’ve ever felt in “romantic” relationships is disappointment.
And I’m well aware that in all my relationships — all my failed attempts at love — the common denominator is me.
I know that.

I can fully accept the fact that I’m no good at relationships.
Not with men, and not even with women.
I can only establish superfluous, superficial connections.
I don’t even have a group of friends.
Everyone feels just outside my comfort zone.
I don’t know how to remedy that.

I’ve certainly become a much happier person than I used to be, but I’m still plagued by the same old demons.

I’m no longer alone — but loneliness, my best friend, still haunts me daily.
Even now, she’s keeping watch over me.

The presence of my daughter in my life has dramatically shifted its trajectory.
She has absolutely changed my life.
I love her so much.
It goes without saying — she is the best part of my life.
Loving her is the healthiest thing I’ve ever experienced.
It feels good to love her.
It feels wonderful.

She has brought meaning to my life — purpose. A clear purpose.

Yes, my priorities have shifted a bit, but not by that much.
I’ve always sought simple things: to live a meaningful life, to have a healthy social life.
And now, to be a competent mother — a good, wholesome mother — to my beautiful daughter.

She is the reason I don’t want the yearning.
I don’t want the desire for love.
I want it expelled, expunged from my being.
I want it all gone.
I know I’m no good at relationships —
(although, sure, that could become a self-fulfilling prophecy from here on out) —
so I don’t want to participate in them anymore.

I just keep getting my heart trampled on.
Every time I try, I fail.

All I ever wanted in a relationship — to set the record straight — was to be treated with respect.
I wanted to feel valued.
I wanted to feel special.
I wanted to feel cared for, wanted.
All of that would have translated into feeling loved.

But I don’t know… to be loved…
Maybe I don’t even know what that means — even though it’s so subjective.
No one can tell me how it feels to love somebody.
No one can tell me how it feels to be loved.
Everyone has their own experience.
My idea of love doesn’t exist.
And I refuse to settle for a diluted version of it.

Maybe I’m being naïve — but honestly, I just don’t care anymore.
I don’t want a man in my life.
I don’t want to want love.
I don’t want it, and I know I don’t need it.

I don’t want to hurt anyone.
And I don’t want to be hurt.

From now on, I’m praying for peace within myself.
I’m praying for freedom from romantic desires.
I’m praying that all the potential I have for romantic love be transformed — funneled — into my love for my daughter.

My daughter is the one person who was ever meant for me.
She’s the one person God created just for me.
She is who I’ve been waiting for all my life.
She’s the one person I can love — and who can love me — unconditionally.
She is the one who makes me want to do better in every aspect of my life.

I love her, and I want all my focus, all my energy, all my love — ALL of my resources — directed toward her.

Am I giving up?
Maybe.
But at this stage, I think giving up — or letting go — of this want, this desire, is the best choice for my well-being.
My mental, emotional, spiritual, and social well-being.
And in turn, maybe I’ll be a better mom.
I can give up the idea of a man for my daughter.
She needs me more than I need a man.