The Sweetest Thing
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Deep down in your gut, you know it’s love. Like nothing you’ve ever known before. Like you’ll never know again. And yet, that dreaded feeling that no matter what, it just won’t work. No matter what. Which voice in your head do you listen to?

People debate whether it’s better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all.  Personally, I prefer to know love, even at a cost. There is tragedy in (emotional/spiritual) virginity. 

But the only thing more tragic than having lost love, is to have it backfire. There is no deeper-stabbing pain than being hated by the one you love. To me, hate is a very strong word. You don’t hear me use it very often. It is a word that carries a lot of emotional weight for those who know it. 

In a relationship, “I love you” is as intimate as “I hate you.”  I take both equally as personal. So it kills me to hear my lover screaming “I fucking hate you!”, at me.  Even if it’s in the heat of the moment, even if she really didn’t mean it. Whenever I say it, I mean it. If those words ever came out of my mouth, the relationship is over because I can’t be close to anyone who inspires passionate aggravation. I would never apologize for telling someone I love her, so I wouldn’t apologize for telling her I hate her. If I said it, I meant it. So, when I’m getting cussed out and berated, I’m assuming that the truth is being unleashed. 

I can’t do emotional roller coasters.  You can’t love me one day, hate me the next and love me again, and hate me again. I’m repulsed by the toxicity. If we’re going to go through ups-and-downs, then we should go through them together hand-in-hand, not against eachother with clenched fists.

If there is ever pain from my past, it’s looking back at wonderfully awesome memories of some really kick-ass times, and then realize that in the end, however much I loved her, she managed to hate me even more.  It’s like realizing that someone you love became a zombie.  You want nothing more than to get close to her, and feel her warm embrace, but as soon as you get close enough, she’s only going to rip your throat out with her teeth and spread your bowels all over the pavement. I can never wrap my head around just how something so deliciously empowering can become so terminally toxic, usually overnight.  True heartbreak is to look into the eyes of another for love, but finding only raging animosity.

It’s like being stranded in the desert for days, looking for water, anything wet to quench your thirst, and being handed a can of gasoline and book of matches.

I don’t even bother debating the “is it me?” insecurities. I’ve been loved and hated enough times over to have a pretty good idea that it’s me.  When it comes to emotional energies, I strive to bring out the best in people, but I tend to also bring out the worst in some. 

The first time I heard this song, I had to sit down and check my soul.  I was in a good place at the time, but the lyrics took me back to some very frustrating times. Decades later, now, the memories of those words still cut deep. It’s hard not to feel like I’ve failed as a human being, knowing that I’ve inspired so much vehemence. The only way I could have avoided her wrath was to not have gotten close to her in the first place. That acknowledgment is merely twisting the blade. I can’t think of any better textbook definition of a curse.

And it would be one thing to accept that it’s happened at least once. With few exceptions, I’ve inspired scorn in almost every serious relationship I’ve been in. Sometimes, I know damn fucking well why she’s fucking foaming at the fucking mouth. Other times, I’m supposed to know, but really don’t. And sometimes, I’m just dumbfounded.  In every case, I’d fix it if I could. I tried. But the more you try, the worse it gets. 

A good relationship is one where I can be 100% me, and she can be 100% she, and we’re both excited by that. Not annoyed, threatened, scared, hostile, or suspicious. The mutual good should outweigh the individual bads. I don’t have to be madly in love 24/7.  But it would be nice to sprinkle joy throughout the day. To be on the same page, for more than every other paragraph at a time. I want a relationship that has far more temperament than temper. 

When you’re not just another brick in the wall, it’s hard to find a matching pair.

 

 

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