Why We Don’t Deserve Love

There comes a feeling when you try to love. A being taller than yourself; personified by touches or exhales. A cold pinch after you tell someone you’ll stay, or maybe, an oncoming breeze of fear when you reply back to a person’s affection. Every emotion is complex and indifferent depending on yourself and the ones who think you deserve love. However, if you’re like me and many others, one statement will unite and mutate us from people trying to stay afloat to shutters of distance that beg others to leave: “I don’t deserve it.” — and why is that? Why do we bottle our life to seclusion and limits? Why do we come back to these words? For me, I’ve always allowed myself to love others. It was a given when aligned by two 20-somethings, mastering the warm acts of passion and care. Creative youths that never went anywhere after I was born. Rather, they stayed, lost in distance, and I examined both worlds as their passion turned into selfishness, and care became less frequent. Through my phases of crooked teeth and blistering acne, I made an oath at some hour at some night to accept that I can love anyone, no matter how broken they may seem. To accept someone who may be infectious, brittle, cold. And hopefully I could bury those feelings away with them and find a better version.

And ever since, I gave myself that opportunity to be free in affection — leading me to identify my sexuality a lot faster than most and dissect reasons relationships fell apart and cross the wires of patterns. It was healthy to be aware, but I did lose myself in a lot of people.

Maybe I was young, maybe I was scared to be like my parents and strike down to the ground. There’s always been this relative fear of not being enough, of being bored by a personal universe. I’ve looked backwards and seen the patterns, and how awfully cruel they’ve been for me — people, family, turning into red bodies of hatred and throwing me out against the curve because I wanted something different, something close enough to touch without coldness. I wanted to breathe, and I wasn’t allowed to for so many years. It’s strange how your mind still clones a mirror of how it was back then, masking into thinking those anxieties are still as powerful; forcing you to confront shadows in the daylight. So, when you have worries hollowed out inside your head of a past that felt like an endless room, and then when someone says, “It’s okay. I know you’re scared. That’s okay.” — there’s a shellshock.

A recent person strutted into my endless room and has been exceptionally loving. A fresh, sudden one that left me assuming he was a comedian working on a housebound joke. I even laughed when he said I improved his life. I mean, I just met this man and he’s saying I’m perfect — then again, that’s what any sane person would say to an acquaintance. But in some profound glimpse, I saw a reflection of myself in him. The ease of being vulnerable too soon, the fast time roller-coaster of each step of affection, to the ‘you’re cute’ to ‘you’re everything.’ And it feels nice. It feels safe. But after you leave him, settle alone for the night, your mind clones itself again.

“No, it’s not real.” — “He doesn’t mean it.” — “Why would he mean it? Look at you, he doesn’t even know you” — “Do you like this? “— “Do think you deserve this? After everything? After all the pain you’ve made? Is this your reward?” — “You’re selfish and careless and you’ll break his heart” — “You’re just like your parents.” — “You’re mean, and no one will love you” — “…You’re unlovable.”

A one-sided coin. Allowing love, but never accepting it. Even now, those voices are strong and piercing. And there’s millions on millions of reasons why this is my nature. Counts of relying on a broken family, exposure to older strangers, and the undoubtable force of self-hatred. I have a lot of that, this slobbering anger with myself, treating my health and abilities as complete waste. Wishing for anything in my power to be a different human. However, I’ve been holding onto other people’s positivity that will lead to therapy and more times I won’t clone my mind and, rather, allow it to process now. I think most of this uplifting hope comes from him. I’ve told him the worst and yet he hasn’t left. I’m focusing on that. And days will come when I fall back to voices and only think about how broken I will always be, but then there will be days I feel his love and think, “Yeah… This is okay.”