Loneliness isn’t arbitrary. We can enjoy our solitude, but not to the point of unwanted seclusion. This sense of feeling lonely is a blanket term; there are different types of loneliness like there are for everything else in life, but that’s not what I’m diving into here. I’m plunging headfirst into a river of self-reflection and failure flowing more steadily and violently as I swim through my existence.
I love to love people. I don’t try to paint myself as a saint, or even pretend to be a great person. I try to be as good as I can to as many people as I can and hopefully my good intentions will serve their purpose, but when my heart gets involved rationale vanishes.
Knowing who I am as a person, I’ve accepted the fact that I have a higher capacity to love than most, but with that comes a disproportionate power struggle between heart and mind. The heart always wins.
Just like in nature, I find beauty in the strong and determined. A single flower radiantly blooming in a sea of gravel and a miniscule amount of soil emits a beauty far surpassing any rose bush or tulip growing in a vast field of accompaniment. Beauty is found in all of it, but I gaze upon the singular flower with a sense of wonderment knowing that it sprouted and thrived in an environment where a majority of the time the circumstances would warrant it to wither and die.
To my own demise, I find the same traits in the women I love. I fall for the strong, the broken hearted, the women with broken spirits and pasts made up of shambles pieced together in disarray. I prey upon their vulnerability and sensitivity in an attempt to fix them, to put them back together. I try to be their savior.
In my own twisted mentality in the art of affection, I justify this by my genuineness. I genuinely care for these girls who have been physically and emotionally abused. I fall in love with them wanting to be the one that takes all of that pain away. I lend my ears, my heart, my hands, and my soul to them to do with as they want as long as it distracts them from the pain they’ve felt and the loneliness they feel. As long as I am needed, my love is returned.
But that’s not how love should be. It shouldn’t just be an appreciation for my beating heart in their hand through the turmoil they’ve experienced. People rescue themselves, they have to want to help themselves. I can’t play savior, and I can’t expect to fall in love by playing savior. Appreciation isn’t the same as feelings. You don’t hang a work of art you merely appreciate. The art on our walls has significance. You love that painting, the colors. It speaks to you.
It’s a common theme in my life. It’s been a pattern in the women I’ve pursued and it’s a pattern that’s left me broken and in shambles myself. Everyone is broken because no one is perfect, but some of us are significantly more broken than others. It is up to us to fix ourselves and not depend on someone else to fix us.
I’ve played the role of the ears to subside loneliness, the attention to rebuild shattered confidence, the wordsmith to say all the right things to restore faith in the male species, among others. Each time felt like it was love, and whether it was or wasn’t it was only temporary. I gave all I had to give to help restore what had been lost, just to be left behind in their restoration. I became the broken one.
Each time hurt less as I grew to expect it and as I matured. Numbness would overcome me as I took on these once broken girls’ pain and made it my own. I bore it all in dead weight on my shoulders.
This isn’t written looking for pity or to make myself out to be a great guy who “deserves” love. I’m writing this because I’m actively learning through my own experiences and heartache that I cannot save everyone. I cannot look for love through the lenses of pain. I know there are so many others out there with a similar mindset, male and female. It’s hard not to want to help and once attached it’s hard not to gain feelings. But like everything else that is difficult and challenging and makes us feel the peaks and valleys of emotion, it makes life worth living. It makes me feel alive. And for that, no matter how any of these relationships work out, whether or not I break my pattern of loving broken women who can’t love me, I am thankful.