As a child I had a strong resistance to growing up. I watched my three older sisters transform before my eyes from innocent young children to rebellious teenagers. I was afraid to be like them. I never wanted to be a teenager or an adult; to me they were evil and scary. They got older and they were meaner to me, because they got cooler and I stayed a little kid.
I got older too, though. It didn’t matter how hard I fought it, I couldn’t resist time. I was forced to grow up because I had to deal with some grown up situations. Once I got through all of that, I felt invincible. I hated that feeling. I wanted to feel vulnerable again, like when I was a child, or like when I thought I was in love. I wanted to have a light heart and to smile. Instead my days were full of anger and hatred. I hated everyone else and I hated myself. I hated the world because I felt alone and afraid. I wanted the rest of the world to feel as bad as I did, since I couldn’t feel as good as them. I would never be as good as everyone else. I had been mistreated throughout the years by many people who claimed to love me. I felt like love, too, was evil. I wanted nothing to do with any of it.
I resisted love for as long as I could. I had boyfriends who loved me and I could never love them back. I knew they would ultimately hurt me, so I wouldn’t let them, and instead I hurt them. I walked away and started over somewhere new. I always wanted that feeling but I was afraid of what would come next. I ran from the pain I knew was coming, but I craved the vulnerability.
Once an opportunity struck, I grabbed hold with all my might. There was a man who, when I met him, was just a boy. He was quiet and shy. He was brilliant and hard working. He admired things about me I didn’t ever recognize until he pointed them out. He was sweet and he loved his mother. This was very important to me; a man’s relationship with his mother says a lot about how he will treat you. He was defensive and loving with her. He wanted to guard her, but she was strong. She did not need his protection, she only wanted his love. He was not an affectionate person, and I imagine even his mother wishes he would be more open with her.
He resisted love, too. He wanted affection but he did not want to dish it out, himself. He ultimately ran away, just like I always did. We are more alike than I thought. I resist the idea that we were meant to be because, well, we can’t be.
I resist the feelings of emptiness that follow any memory of him. I resist the urge to reach out to him. Instead, I look blindly towards the future, hoping that he was never right for me. I hope for something better to come along, or not. I hope for isolation to become peaceful. I hope for my heart to someday be overflowing with joy like it has in the past.
I wonder if I will ever feel so happy as when I was gazing at the stars by your side the very first time.