The Painful Truth About Sabotaging My Own Love Life

I love love. I love being in love and everything that comes along with it. Who doesn’t want their hand to be held all the time? Who wouldn’t want good morning texts and goodnight kisses? But somewhere along the way, I’ve grown fearful. I’ve grown a little bit wary. And a little bit apprehensive.

The first time I said ‘I love you’ to someone, I was 17 and deeply, deeply in love. I’m talking almost to an unhealthy point, where love becomes your life line. When that relationship ended three years later, I was sure I was never going to find love like that again. And I was so sure that I would never fall in love ever again.

The second time I started falling for someone, they ditched me for my best friend. That didn’t end well obviously. And the most recent time I’ve said ‘I love you’ turned out to be a lie. I was trying so hard to love again. But, it wasn’t true. And I wasn’t being true to my heart.

I’ve been single for two years now, and I love the freedom of it. I like that I don’t have to take care of anyone, but myself. I like that I can have a girls night in and not worry about what my boyfriend is up to. I love that being single means deepening already great friendships and growing closer with the people that I surround myself around.

But, like most people, I get lonely.

I want that hand to hold. I want those lips to kiss and I want the conversations that last for hours on end. And like most people, I don’t want to be single for eternity.

Here’s where shit gets real dark. I went on a grand and impressive total of two dates in 2016. TWO. I’m even embarrassed to write that number out for the world to see but hey, in 2015 I only went on one date, so I’m making progress (lol, not really).

Obviously, I’m not trying very hard. I’m not really interested in playing the field and going on date after date. I don’t like small talk. I don’t do the whole ‘one night stand’ thing that my generation is obsessed with. First dates make me want to throw up, to be quite honest. My anxiety literally goes into full “flight” mode whenever someone even whispers the words ‘first date’. Also, I’m SUPER terrified of getting kidnapped/accidentally going on a first date with a serial killer.

Can you tell I’m an anxious person yet?

I let my mind ruin any possibility of love. I let my thoughts and my worries ruin the butterflies and the giddy feelings. I let my anxiety take the wheel. And I let it drive, while I sit back and close my eyes.

I flee the moment before anything good can begin. I run the other direction when someone is interested me. I shut the door on any opportunity that I see. And I don’t know why. 

I don’t know why I’m my worst enemy when it comes to love. I don’t know why I run. I don’t know what I’m so damn scared about. I don’t know why I take cover when someone smiles at me or asks me out. I don’t know why I keep sabotaging the one thing that I deeply want.

My friends don’t really understand. They don’t understand how I could run from something that is good. Run from someone that is good.

Maybe I’m just afraid of falling in love like I did when I was 17. Maybe, I’m just afraid of finding love again, and eventually losing it. Maybe I’m scared of losing control of my own heart again. Of letting it go wild.

Or maybe I’m just petrified of not being able to handle another loss. Another lost forever. Another broken piece. Another wound written on my heart. And maybe I’m petrified of losing myself. Again.