L'Uccello

I just read a blog about love by a person who has never experienced it and I grew incredibly annoyed at the naive statements being made by the author about the topic. Words such as “simple” and “magical” were thrown around in such a careless manner that I found myself almost personally insulted at the superficial characteristics being given to the loaded word. Then I took a step back and asked myself who is really the best person to describe love? This author, who has never experienced it or even been in a serious relationship, or me, someone who has loved and lost twice. The way that she describes love greatly reminds me of some of my own expectations of it. Once you found love you were safe, secure, complete. You would walk around singing, picking wild flowers and and befriending tiny mine workers. Thinking of love as a cure all for any troubles that the relationship was having. You expect it to be just like the fairy tales. In some ways it is.  Unfortunately the fairy tales don’t prepare you for all of the other sides of love. You are taken aback when the point of love is not reached simultaneously. There is confusion when simply being in love doesn’t actually perfect your partner or take away the disagreements. And worst of all, fairy tales certainly don’t prepare you for the possibility of love ending. It is inconceivable that such a strong emotion can run out of time, like a clock striking midnight.  Love can never be defined by one person or group or story. It is experienced by everyone in a unique way. Some find the beauty in love, believing that they have found their soul mate in their partner. Others experience the beast, loving those who abuse them mentally, physically, or emotionally. How is such a range possible? How can one word categorize a myriad of different types of relationships? Believing in the simplest form of romantic love, the fairy tale version, enabled me to dive like Ariel (before the infamous Voice/Leg Exchange of 1987) into the word that quickly defined my first serious relationship. It didn’t last or end well, but none of that can take away from the power that speaking, hearing, and feeling love for the first time had over me. It was a wonderful feeling, a true natural high, a magic carpet ride, and has left me seeking it out ever since.  So who has the right idea? The naive writer who will go in with “Once upon a time…” expectations or the girl who believe less and less in loves powers? Perhaps it’s a combination. A real-life fairy tale, like the ending to Pretty Woman. “Simple” and  ”magical” mixed with Chinese take-out on Valentines day and weekend getaways for sleeping in and brewery tours. Now that is something I could work with. 

Tonight I found myself sobbing in the kitchen of the family who I am living with telling the Italian mother all of my problems between gasps for air and clearing my nose. By the middle of the conversation she had pinpointed the exact root of all of these problems after knowing me for two weeks and basically told me to deal with it. Damn. It’s been a long time coming (almost 16 years to be exact) that I have to start really, truly, dead on need to start dealing with a hugely painful and confusing experience in my life. Tonight in that kitchen I understood that what I was currently doing is exactly how I have been putting off dealing with this problem for so long. I put all of these other issues, some bullshit and some legitimate, in front of this key emotional obstacle. I have been giving myself excuse after excuse to delay the inevitable and now it’s staring me in the face and for the first time I need to man up and cry about it.  I promised myself just a few short days ago that I would start being really honest with myself. I have been paying attention to my reactions and then figuring out what their purpose is and where they’re actually coming from. This has been no small task. Being honest with yourself about your faults and false assumptions after years of hiding from them has been emotionally draining. I cried more today for myself than I have in years. I knew that it would be difficult and even painful to take on this feat but I had no idea I would hit such a low so quickly. I spent the day feeling useless, unimportant, and unloved. Not a good place to be. I’m letting myself realize that the root of my anger and fear of judgement and neglect stems from the fact that I am not and have not been happy with myself for a long time. I feel lost at sea with a single paddle and I am just spinning in a tiny circle getting no where except closer to giving up. How do I start, What do I do, and Who do I involve? I still have no clue and I am hoping that as long as I actually try something and make some sort of move that some of this will fall into place. Somehow.  I was just talking to some friends about how we all want to learn Italian but how intimidating it is to think about how long it will take to actually learn a new language and be able to use it properly. I picked up a guitar last week, an instrument I have always wanted to play, and when I saw where I would have to begin and how long it would take to get to where I want to be I wanted to give up before strumming one string. So the girl who is unsure of her ability to learn how to put a sentence together in Italian or be able to play Three Blind Mice on the guitar is going to take on the task of sorting through almost two decades of emotional issues and learn to love herself. What was I thinking?!? Well it’s too late now, the flood gates have been opened and there is no turning back. Now I just have to go along with it and see where it takes me. Hopefully I’ll find that second paddle along the way. 

I’ve found that since I got out of my last serious relationship I have profoundly felt the absence of love in my life. In my first real relationship I was somewhat cautious. Waiting until I knew I truly felt it. And what a remarkable feeling it was. There’s a light that shines out from the deepest part of you, your heart’s “gut”. The first time I felt love I fell completely, blindly, whole body and soul into it. I ended up being more hurt than I have ever hurt in my entire life. I cannot exaggerate this point enough. All of those cliques about food losing taste and life losing color literally became true for me. I was a walking zombie for weeks. I hid from life avoiding friends, barely showing up for classes, shielding myself as much as I could. I felt alone and useless. I was completely unequipped for getting my heart shattered and the only tools I could scrounge up were silence and disappearing as much as possible. I eventually came out of it and as soon as I was able to even consider opening up to someone again I ran into the arms of an ex. Because it was safe. Because it was definite. Because I needed it. In this relationship I exercised more caution. Although we had history it was much longer than it was deep. It started as a high school crush and it was something that I could not let go of. I so desperately wanted to be able to tell my children that I knew I loved their father when I first laid eyes on him from my locker sophomore year of high school. Trust me, I know how pathetic that sounds. I hate even admitting this but it’s true. He proved time and time again to not be ready for a real relationship but I did an award worthy job at convincing him and myself that he was. I knew the entire time that I didn’t really trust him or his commitment to me but being with him and being loved was more important than the truth. It took me a very long time to figure that out. I swore that I would remain single for a long time. I wanted to find myself. I was convinced I would find happiness in being alone. I found myself starting a new relationship three months later. While I am still in this relationship and actually quite happy in it, I am not in love. I now know the dangers of jumping into those three little words that are thrown around so effortlessly. I also remember the joys of hearing those words and believing every ounce of the weight that they carry. I miss that feeling more than I care to admit. My current partner uses these words very carefully, only indulging once before. I truly respect and appreciate this and do not expect to hear these words from him anytime soon.  Yet I find myself sometimes craving these words, wanting and needing them more than anything I’ve ever desired in my life. I became so used to hearing those words in the past few years that I find it very difficult to go so long without them. I just recently realized that I had been relying on these words to feel personally validated. I could believe that I loved myself because I was loved by a man. I understand now that I miss love in my life so much because I do not love myself. I used to have reasons to convince myself that I was a confident person. I was a smart girl, good runner, very involved with all sorts of activities, and I had (and still do have) amazing friends. Now I am on a break from school, not running, not involved and all but one of my amazing friends are thousands of miles away. Sure I’m in Italy, but loving a geographical location cannot come close to taking the place of loving another human being. I’ve never wanted to really admit that I don’t love myself. Sure, I openly admit not loving certain things about myself. There are also things that I don’t love about myself that only I know about. But never, to anyone, including myself, have I ever really admitted that I don’t love myself. How can I say that I have felt this strongly about another person if I haven’t felt this way about myself. It’s been so long that I can’t remember if I ever loved myself. If I did it faded so completely that not even it’s shadow exists anymore.  So this is my ultimate goal of 2011. Of course I want to eat better, get in shape, and meet Jennifer Aniston. But above all, I want to learn to love myself. I want to face (almost) all of my flaws and either work on them or accept them. I want to really appreciate my good qualities. Not just be able to list them, but truly appreciate them. And I want to be able to come out of this year, and even more so come out of Italy, loving myself for no other reason other than just being me. And so it begins…