We all have that one thing, the fear that we don’t share. The thing that keeps us up at night and makes our hearts beat at the pace of a hummingbird’s wing. The one thing that makes us freeze like the rabbit who smells danger or the deer in the headlights who knows that she is a goner, but who cannot move.
Mine is being alone.
And I don’t mean that I am afraid of being alone in my house, or that I freeze at the thought of an empty room. That’s just silly.
The thing that makes my blood run cold is the idea that I’ll never have that person who holds me in his arms and kisses me on the forehead and tells me it’s all going to be alright. I’m afraid that I’ll never know what love really is.
I’m afraid that I’ll forever be looking at it from the outside, watching other people live happy lives with partners that want to share their pain and their problems, but it’s not my fate.
I fear that I passed up on an opportunity to be happy and have someone to work through all my woes because I was too picky, and now no one will find me good enough. I’m afraid that I’ll always be considered just a little too _________(fill in the blank)_______.
Too big. Too busty. Too tall. Too smart. Too fuzzy. Too ditsy. Too serious. Too silly. Too something.
Never just right. Never good enough. Never the first choice.
Never worth the effort to get to know.
I spend my life trying to figure people out. Trying to figure out what it is that they want and trying to figure out how to be that, because whatever it is that I am is never right.
I hear these people tell stories about how they meet their lovers, or I see those damned romantic comedies, and I see how it is “supposed” to work.
But that’s never for me.
I was over 30 before a guy ever bought me a drink in a bar, so I’ve never understood how the bar scene works for dating. I have never had the experience of a guy picking me up in the grocery store, or any of those other neat places. I’ve never had a guy approach me in a bookstore, or at least not a guy I wasn’t already expecting (the date with Superman comes to mind).
The nearest thing was when the Boy told me later that he went to trivia after we met because I supposedly went every week. It was the one week that I didn’t go. And then he looked me up on Facebook, and we started what could have been a wonderful romance, but it wasn’t meant to be.
It was short lived, like all the rest. Admittedly, I tried harder with him than I have in the past. Usually when I get bored, I’m done. I’ve never understood what it was about him that made me always want to hold on for a little bit longer than I should.
Of course, then they all became equally as short lived. I was looking for that spark, that feeling of elation that I would get when he would message me.
And it hasn’t happened since. Not even talking to him again has the same sweetness to it.
It’s bittersweet now because I know what it could have been. I can still see that fate as clearly as I ever did, but it’s still not quite right.
I am not right.
So I am the one alone, and sad, and facing the fear that I’m going to always be that way.
I fear that there will never be a day when I can roll over and say good morning to the person who loves me for who I really am. That there will never be a person willing to get to know me, really know me. That there isn’t anyone who is as curious about me as I am about them.
I fear that I will die alone and full of regret, having never known what it was like to have someone to really depend on who was my equal and who would lean on me as much as I leaned on him.
It’s been a bad day. Can you tell?