Monday 27 February 2017

Looking for love... or not.

Here I am again sat at the keyboard, fingers hovering hesitantly over the keys: what do I write about?

Its been a while hasn't it?

The uncertainty I forever feel at the beginning of these tasks is at best daunting, but at worst it lifts the lid that releases the serpent that constricts around my heart even on my best days; self doubt is maybe my oldest enemy. But that moment, the fingers hovering, the dryness in my mouth as I sit with a stillness only achieved in the deepest states of concentration, the cold coil of self doubt and insecurity in my chest, it always ends. The snake slithers back to its hole to try again another day.

Before writing those first lines I sat for perhaps 10... no 20 minutes... the clock stopped ticking I'm sure. But still I ask myself that question: what do I write about? Well I guess I'll write about me again, call me a narcissist, self absorbed, I don't really give a damn.

This time I'm talking about love, which incidentally is all I ever seek and simultaneously revile. Me and love have what you might call 'a love/hate relationship.' I'm sorry but tragic irony is part of my personal brand, its inescapable. If I sit and think about what drives me through life, be that University, work, relationships, everything, I would have to admit- despite the damage it will inflict upon my inner emo- that love is a huge drive for me. There is a lot of love inside me, so much so that at points it is unbearable, uncontainable, overflowing. The greatest pain and sadness I have suffered is borne of love in some way or another, it is an emotion that is as destructive as it is nurturing for me, and the same for many others.

In all honesty love- and its capacity for toxicity- has poisoned me as much as it has helped me grow, maybe more. Am I less developed than I could be had my foundations not been eroded by such acidic love? I don't really know, I'll disclose the truth if I ever find it, don't hold your breath though (I'm not). But yes, love has the capacity, like many things, to be deadly, poisonous and dangerous. Some people weaponise love (I sure as hell hold my hands up; guilty as charged), use it to control, manipulate, use the trust it insights to eradicate your sense of self worth. But at the end of the day once you've used loved in such a twisted way it isn't love anymore. Too bent out of shape to bare the name.

But this is not the kind of love I lay focus on, why would I? Love like that is not the kind of love that endures and now it only exists in my memories. Love has gifted me so many things that are far more worthy of my time, and I have love for far better things than any those memories hold. At the risk of sounding corny... love has given me so much strength. Love from my family, my friends has helped me but above all love of myself. Loving myself has given me a power and a strength that is quite simply put, exhilarating. Its helped me take steps towards self discovery that were just that little bit too far away before, its helped me realise who I am and who I'm not (even if I'm not all the way there yet). I stand by the love I have, I am unmovable in my conviction. I love my friends, I'm learning to love my body, I love my degree, the art I produce, the art my peers produce, the environment I am lucky enough to get to work in, I love women, all women, especially bad women because 'Dammit! Bad women provide us with the examples of resistance we need!'. I can be confident that when someone accuses me of being awful, nasty or completely self-centred, that 'NO I AM NOT!' because I have seen the kindness and selflessness I am capable of even if it isn't perfect. It has given me the strength to harden myself against those that condemn me as wrong, ugly or damaged because my beauty comes from within and if you revile me then go ahead, my worth is not dependent on anyone but me.

Yet I find myself sat here with no desire to find love; the love, the one that everyone is looking for. I can't really answer why exactly that might be, though I do have my theories. Is it simply that I am finally fulfilled by the love I have for myself and in need of nothing more? Maybe I just haven't met someone to spark that kind of love in me again, it can often be so damaging. Or maybe I have realised, truly and finally, that I do not need that kind of love at this stage in my life, the stage at which I have just embarked on my lifelong goal of becoming an artist at one of my dream universities. I sure as hell hope so. I am content with the strength and happiness that exists within me and I have no desire for anything more, why would I when I am much more reliable than anyone else ever could be, and why search for something that no good can come of when forced. Why waste time searching for love when I am already surrounded by it?

There is so much to be felt in this world, so much to see and experience and enjoy and none of it should depend solely on another, I have learnt that the hard way. At this age I would gladly welcome love but simultaneously I have no desperation for it. If it comes along, it will show itself but if it doesn't then that only reinforces the feeling that right now is my time to be alone, and enjoy it.

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