Mindless Ramblings of the Queer Kind

I really find it fascinating the way that the human mind works. How opening up one wound can show the blood leaking from another one you didn’t even know was there. How that drip of pain can just become a gush.

Emotional vulnerability is such a multifaceted thing for me. On one hand, when I meet someone new, I try very hard to show them all the bad parts of myself, pointing them out like I am a billboard on the side of the road. That’s the easy part. It is almost like the bright colors of a poison dart frog. The colors are there to make the predator think, hey this thing is dangerous, but really, what they are there for is to keep the frog safe. So, in theory, if I point out all the reasons why someone shouldn’t love me, maybe I will save myself from being hurt.

But then comes that once in a while thing when someone sees those bright colors, and they go, ” Wow, that is beautiful, I don’t mind the chance of danger if it means I get to have this in my life.” And there comes the problem. How do you protect yourself from someone who sees past your defenses? How do you protect yourself when they charm you so thoroughly, when they make your heart sing, and every picture of the two of you together shows how much you’ve let yourself fall for them?

I am afraid of having my heart broken. There have been so many times when I have given my heart to someone, and they have handed it back to me in pieces. It hurts so much to have to put those pieces back together; to spend days and nights crying over the pain of that misplaced trust and, honestly, the loss. I find myself now faced with someone who loves those dangerous colors. Who holds me gently so as not to injure either of us, and at times, looks at me with the same loving eyes that I look at them. And I am terrified.

Recently, a misunderstanding led me to think that the cycle had begun again, that I had let someone into my heart, and that I was once again walking away with a box of pieces on my way to buy some super glue. While the thoughts were very trauma-led and untrue, I have had to sit the last few days with the realization of how deep I am in this, and how scared I am to lose this amazing, beautiful person.

As I sit with it, I realize that it is not the fear that they will do something to hurt me that haunts me. It’s me. I am so scared that they will realize all of the things I see in myself are true, and they will fall out of love with me, and I will be there, asked to just be friends while my heart cries over what it has lost. And I hate myself for it.

I don’t hate myself in that seething, angry way we usually see hate. I hate myself from a place of exhaustion. I hate that all the decisions I have made in my life have led me to this place. I have not achieved much. I am not healed. I am not thin, healthy, and thriving. I am this sad little person who has not even figured their shit out. I hate that I am not a put-together enough person to not have to be worried about scaring someone away. And I am just so tired.

It’s a tired that slips into your bones and makes you feel like an elephant is sitting on your chest. I keep telling myself that things are going to get better, that spring is here, and I won’t hate existing so much, but it only gets better in spurts, and I am just so incredibly tired.

I wish I had a better grip on my life. I know it doesn’t do me a lot of good to wish, but gods do I wish. I want this life where I can see the possibilities in front of me. I want the love that is being offered to me. I want to not feel like I have to curl my body around my heart to keep it from breaking again, because what if this is the time I don’t bounce back? What if I can’t take it again, and I just give up on ever being loved again? What if I can’t see that at least I was loved at all through the agony of loss?

I know this is all very melodramatic. I know that heartbreak isn’t going to kill me. I do think that I am running out of willingness to try again, and I really want this time to be the time. Not because of the lack of willingness to try again, but because when I look at him, my heart beats faster and slower at the same time. When he laughs or makes a silly joke, I can’t stop the smile and joy that fills me. Because when he puts his hand in mine in anchors my drifting shift, and his love is like a lighthouse guiding me back to shore. The boat floats on its own and will weather the storms, but the ride is so much more beautiful when it is safe and cared for enough to be able to enjoy the scenery. And gods, I want to return that love in kind. Tenfold even.

So I guess the step I take is learning to hate myself less. To trust that someone else might actually be able to love me back. To enjoy my time in the harbor of this love, to share the deck and quarters, and know that even if they go empty again, they will still function even after wear. I don’t really know where to start or how to do that, but I think this is my first step. It’s out there, in black and white. No denying it now. Wish me luck