Feeling Romantic

I like the feeling of caring about someone I’m interested in romantically or, probably more truly, I like the idea of liking the feeling of caring about a romantic interest. I like the idea of liking the feeling of caring for a romantic interest too. I like to care about other people from afar, to imagine their feelings for them i.e. project the feelings that I would have in whatever situation onto them. It makes me feel closer to them because I am making them more like myself in my mind. They are my imaginary human dolls, just like when I was a little girl. This subconscious approach does not serve me well in my approach with a real live person though, at least now I am aware of this.

Case in point: someone that I cared deeply for — I knew it in my heart and it was true, but I was blinded by years of emotional and mental baggage, and found myself not being able to accept the reality of unrequited love. Even now, I struggle with the notion. We were involved in a rocky, raucous way for a year before it completely broke. I denied to him and myself that I wanted to be with him, but obviously I did want that because we were always together. It was never real though,

 

was it?

No… couldn’t have been.

Anyway, I try not to be robotic in the thought that perhaps if this relationship would have been a smooth sailing one I may have given myself a win, reveled in the conquest and eventually lost interest. Who knows. It didn’t happen, so I’m left in the hanging position, writing a blog about it six months after whatever-it-was ended.

I’ve noticed that I tend to go for people that I want to take care of, that seems to be a quality that I look for, which is strange itself… I like a quality in others that incites a certain reaction in myself. I’ll call it mild narcissism and move on. I think I want to be the provider, take care of it all, then after that situation has been established and I spend a little time in it, I become impatient with whoever in question’s inability to do whatever.

I have a subconscious need to be needed, but I find myself turned off by any neediness and seem to prefer someone who doesn’t want me at all. I think we all lead ourselves exactly where we need to be at all times, so I wonder if I only become involved with unavailable men because I too am truly unavailable. I feel there is something in me that I can only find on my own. I feel like I am perhaps putting myself in these situations because I am supposed to be alone, at least for the time being, until I am no longer alone. I believe everything happens as it should just because that’s what happened. That is what is. That is what was. Nothing more or less.

I can and have entertained myself alone throughout my whole life — an only daughter, so I kept to myself even at home. I have pretty much always been alone, without even realizing it most of the time, but I finally got sick of it by my 25th birthday and ventured out on a quest to act like I didn’t want a boyfriend at all to then in turn get a boyfriend. The plan was foolproof, unfortunately I was acting like an idiot. (Sidenote: I recognize everything that has happened in my life as necessary, I do not consider anything a mistake, and love myself for all past learning experiences — just really wanted to make that joke. :D)

I put myself in a lot of different dating situations but I was always alone. But now I cherish all this time with myself and four years later I have found my contentment and joy in being alone once again. So I safely and silently engage in my own mind from afar, having a more fulfilling relationship with myself than I ever have with anyone else, while doing exactly what I and I alone feel led to do at every moment.

I do truly love and care about every single person there is and was and will be, I am particularly speaking about myself inside of a romantic relationship. I was an isolated little girl who made up what I thought love looked like in my head and now as a woman I finally realize that real life is much different and that people are interesting creatures, but predictable for the most part. I’m no exception.

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