Make her cry.
When met with the prospect of abandonment, I panic. I have an unsurvivable fear of being alone. To this, common advice condemns me for having tried to love someone else before loving myself. This is what my therapist tells me at least. And, I hate it. So instead, you must cry. I am sorry.
My therapist is a twice-divorced baby boomer who might also suggest a hand-written letter carried by pigeon, and slipped into my crush’s classroom cubby, as a token of my love. I don’t want your relationship advice. In fact, I have some for you: “Tinder has a “Super Like” function that only those who love themselves can access. It works wonders for finding the one.” She was nothing like my next therapist.
Cue, the third divorce.
Ironically, I find the most qualified and educated people in a particular field to give the worst advice. Conversely, those who should not be giving any advice at all, provide the most useful.
Former crackhead “Mr. G” and his fiend-like shakes, our high-school’s version of the D.A.R.E program, motivated me to stay off the weed. It was not some Addiction Psychiatrist.
Our identities are dynamic.
Expecting people to love themselves prior to chancing love itself is completely unfair. We grow, our values shift, and we must answer to our degenerate high-school friends why we no longer want to party under bridges. The bevy of personas we harbor, dawned like new masks for the social environment in which we are thrust, mature.
As humans, we cannot be pigeon-holed. We cannot believe in the singularity of identity. It takes time to realize and love our plurality, seeing those many personas as whole and interconnected. But admittedly, I cannot yet do this.
I currently feel like a fraud, suffering from a dissociative disorder with these many masks. My life is just a rerun of split. My identity is unformed, and so yes, I struggle to love myself. However, this should deny no man or woman a chance at love. I need not wait until I am 50 years-old for a first date.
So, because I cannot, I need someone to assure me that the man I am becoming for the time being is acceptable, and worthy of being loved.
The unhealthy need for someone else to fill this temporary void of self-love causes problems. Any hints of distantness in my relationships signal disinterest, and subsequently trigger feelings of a lack of self-worth. This precedes my imagined abandonment.
You are distant.
You no longer like me. I too am unsure of who I am and if I like me. So, I need to know that you still love me.
You must cry. I am sorry.
I need evidence that you still care, that you won’t leave me. Because I love so passionately, and hate so intensely, tears frequently tell my stories. Countless tears have been shed, the streams often hidden in the rain. Why? Because I am a man. Emotion is too taboo. But just know that over you I cry, deposits are made, and brackish rivers flow. Now, you must show me. I am sorry.
Loving you is hard, but loving me is harder. I love loving you, so please be patient, don’t leave me.