I’m realizing I’m doing it again. I’m self-sabotaging.
I think part of me is scared to actually be happy. Struggle has been such a cornerstone to my life—who am I if I’m not surviving something? Why does peace feel so threatening?
It’s weird. It doesn’t make sense. Yet here I am.
I think maybe deep down, when I push someone away, I’m hoping they’ll push right back. That they’ll fight for me and say, “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work on me.” That they’ll refuse to abandon me even when I’m at my most difficult.
And, god, do I know I’m difficult. My issues aren’t lost on me. I’m painfully aware of my shortcomings.
To have someone see me at my worst and love me anyway, and refuse to let me push them over… it feels like such an impossible dream. It feels like so much to ask of one person. It feels like I don’t deserve it.
And another part of me is angry that it’s so easy for me to push people away. That it actually works. That most people don’t push back—they just… go.
I can’t even imagine what it would be like to meet someone as stubborn and fiery as me, but in a way that reassures me instead of destroying me. Someone who can hold their ground without trying to break mine. Someone so absolute in his wanting me in his life that once he knows me, he can’t even imagine me not in it.
I’m starting to believe that kind of man doesn’t exist.