to be loved

There’s been many books written on love. Collections of sad poetry, rom-com movie scripts, those corny harlequin novels you pick up and read in secret – there’s a gamut of them.

What’s more interesting is the amount of books written on trying to understand love – and the opposite gender. Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus; Why Men Marry Bitches – the list goes on. The basic one is the Five Love Languages – explaining how people love, and want to be loved in different ways and how you should find someone who’s compatible with your way of showing love/wanting to be loved.

An ex of mine once said that I don’t know how to love, or how to show love and that hurt. Looking back now, I realize that we just weren’t compatible. We had different needs, and wants; and showing love was different for the both of us. I try not to let it get to me, although his words do ring in my head a lot.

Right now, I find myself struggling to be someone who can show love in the right ways since I’ve been down. I find myself questioning my ability to love, even though I know I love my son, my family, my friends, my partner. Can I love them in the right ways? Can they show me love in the ways I need them to? So many questions, not enough answers.

My internal dissatisfaction stems from an inner barrenness, apparently.  That’s what BPD literature says about sufferers seeking external validation. I’m still prone to violent mood swings and that lashing out and moody introspection leads to a lot of fights. I want to be positive and happy and fulfilled but nothing seems to fill the void. I’m constantly empty, drained, feeling like I’m running on fumes. I lash out at my partner, and he takes the brunt of my mood swings.

I’ve actively been trying to distance myself, try my best not to lash out at him but it happens on occasion and I absolutely hate myself for it when I do. I self-isolate a lot, even when I know I shouldn’t, because either I feel like I shouldn’t be reaching out or I don’t know who to reach out to. I don’t want to hurt the ones I love, but I always end up doing so.

Love is complicated.

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