What If I’m Actually Meant To Be Alone?

What if I wasn’t meant to feel, only to see? What if I was only meant to watch, never to experience?

For years, I’ve tried nurturing and sustaining relationships by changing myself to what I thought was best for the people I love. It’s important for me to know that they have everything they want, and to do that I keep changing, adjusting, and adapting to whatever they need regardless of my preferences on how I accept love, on how I want to be loved.

I never put myself first, which I think is the very reason why nothing’s left when people decide they’re done with me.

When the good times end, when heartbreak comes, I wonder where, when, and why things went wrong. How the best of me, as deemed fit to their desires, still isn’t sufficient to make them stay.

I was bound to that endless loophole. I was trapped in the cycle of how wretched people experience love. It’s only when I had nothing left to lose that I finally got exhausted and freed myself from the pain it has caused me. Now I feel at ease with my own company.

I want to be loved, I do. It still terrifies me to think how one can live this life to its end without trying to love and to be loved, but the thought of having to risk everything again frightens me more.

The thought of having someone I wholeheartedly love and trust disappointing me is much more terrifying than the thought of me living my life comfortably, though alone. I’m scared of the little things that can stir up emotions I don’t have to feel as I walk this path on my own—the silent treatment, the unanswered calls and messages, the petty arguments leading to misunderstandings, the reassurances needed to make up for lost trust, and so on.

I do want to be held. I want to be spoken to in soft whispers. I still want to feel loved, but I’m too scared to unpack my luggage, to open up about my insecurities, to go over my life story again about how I am unable to trust people, how I judge them until I know what their motives are. It’s a struggle to share about these things again without the certainty that it would be for the last time. It’s exhausting to make people understand how I became an emotional disaster; it’s an even harder job to make them accept all of that.

What if I just miss loving and being loved? Because as I finally get close to feeling these again, I drift away. I run away from it because I can’t, at least not anymore, sacrifice the peace I get from being alone, on my own, without restrictions.

What if the reason why things never work out is because I don’t really know who I am when I’m with someone? What if I really show the best of who I am when I keep my distance from love?

What if being alone is what makes me complete?