I’ve reread a couple of entries from this forgotten journal. It wasn’t the most pleasurable read; my eyebrows arched in disbelief, my nose crinkled in slight disgust, and my brain a little tired from the constant disappointment and waiting.
Last Friday I got invited to an overnight stay at a hotel in the city not far from where I live by a friend I met on the Internet. She is an intelligent woman and a decent one, I guess. Although she had tried to invite me on several occasions (that I politely refused), this time I thought: fuck it. So I went. It turns out she did not invite me to murder or scam me; she just wanted company and that made me settle in a bit. At one point in our conversation she told me the secret to her relationship with her long-time boyfriend is that she knows what her priorities are and at the top of that list is herself.
I find it strange because in all the years I spent looking for love, the love that is not the inherited type, I learned that I don’t have much control. I give everything. My time. My pride. Myself. I do not leave anything for me, not even a tiny piece. It’s go big or go home.
And now I realize how idiotic this ideology is. The moment your family stops financially supporting you, you are on your own. You move out and find a tiny room the size of a bathtub and call it home. You have to get a job and pay your bills. You get to be your own anchor.
It’s no different with love. The moment you fall in love with someone, you must be independent still. There are boundaries and you have to go about it quickly or you get left behind. You cannot ask for guidance from your parents or your friends, you have to do it yourself or you’ll get in all sorts of trouble and you wouldn’t know how to cope.
The stains from almost lovers and boys who change their fancy minds every time I decide to let go are still here. And what do I do instead of getting rid of them? I wait. I’m a very impatient person, it runs in the family. I want answers now and I’ll try to shake it out of whoever no matter how much it will hurt me. Once I get my answers and they have given me the kind that I don’t want – or need – to hear, I remain in a rut. It’s like I have been paralyzed and I don’t have the money for therapy because I’ve given everything up.
I guess what I’m trying to say is: the wait time is over. I’m carefully removing the go big or go home sign from the facade of my fist-sized heart. I’m shaking the cobwebs and drawing the curtains up. I’m wiping the stains no matter how strong they are. I have paid my dues. It’s high time I collect what I deserve.