A Countdown to G-Day: Day 17

Someone once said that all our lives are stories waiting to unfold.

I don’t want mine to be a love story. I don’t want to have the defining characteristic of my life be the fact that I am in love with another person.

I want mine to be a tale of a girl who finds her meaning, her self worth.  I’d be alright if it ends in me not finding it-because the mere fact that I am strong enough to try to save myself from myself is enough for me.  It’s all right to hope.

If my life was a love story I won’t have time for that. The presence of another person complicates things. How will I be able to find myself when I’m busy catering to someone else?

Another thing with love stories is that they discourage a healthy change. I want to change into a better person. I want to get better. But if the main focus of my life was a relationship, then how will I get better? Any person who falls in love with me is crazy. But it takes an especially deluded person to fall in love with a person like me as I am now. Because that person wouldn’t want me, just what I represent. A sad and unstable girl who sees life differently. That person would either want to change me or make me stay the way I am.

(In them form because why not?)

Change: They would treat me like a doll and mold me into what they want me to be. I will never find myself.

Stay the way I am: They fell in love with the ugly me, and would want me to remain as the ugly me, because the ugly me makes them feel good about themselves. I will never find myself.

I also run the risk of projecting myself onto another person. Not just myself, but all my hopes and dreams. And I’d want that person to be perfect and always hold up against my impossibly high standards. Say that person is you. You’re just a person, you can’t possible be able to live up to my idea of you, and that would crush me and I’d hate you. Because you’re not just you, you’re also everything else that has ever disappointed me. I would become bitter and try to crush you as how I perceived you crushed me.

I might also depend on you. Not depend in a “I trust in you” way, but depend in a “I would cling on to you” way. I would be a parasitic worm, leeching off you, taking, always taking, but never giving.

I’ve never been in a relationship, and I probably never will, because I’m sane enough to know that my mental state is not healthy, and I probably will never be able to get better.

But if my life was a story, and it was the kind of story I like, that wouldn’t matter. I’ll never try to find my worth from other people, and I will try my hardest to find myself and get better. If I get even just that, then I will be able to die knowing that there was meaning in my life.

When it all comes down to it, I’d rather find meaning than find love.

P.S. If I ever do get into a relationship I am already asking for forgiveness from the other party in advance. And time. And space. And hugs. And books. Mostly books.