I found my black leather satchel from college hidden in the trunk of my car. When did it get there? I’m guessing I’ve been carrying it around for years and at one point transferred it to my trunk when I bought a new car.
Just seeing it again made me smile, that thing went everywhere with me (and apparently still does). It was full of old school stuff, mostly poetry, but also I found my very first diary I started when I was 11, and then it’s sequel, tucked in beside it. I had at least 9 years of my life in those pages. From adolescence to teenager … and I read through it all, what a night it was.
Every page, from beginning to end was filled with thoughts on love. I guess I’ve been trying to figure it out for a very long time. I’ve come to realize I haven’t changed much at all. All these ideas of growing and changing are ridiculous when I read through 20 year old thoughts that I still have to this day. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
When I was 11 I was convinced that true love would find me. And how I ached for it! I knew without a doubt that all the overwhelming feelings I had, had a home and if I were just patient enough, I could eventually place them down somewhere soft.
When I was 13 I was learning how patience gets you nowhere, and I became disillusioned and angry.
At 14 I decided to pour my love into other things, things that I could see and touch and feel and that would respond. Gaining friends and popularity were my priorities, and animals became my life.
At 16 my heart doubled in size, boys became my fascination and demise. I became a slave to emotion and it ruled me for years and years and years. I got hurt a lot that year. I didn’t know that people could tell lies about their hearts, or why they told them.
When I was 17 I fell in love for the first time. One of those love at first sight experiences that nobody ever believes. I wouldn’t believe it if someone told me the story, but because I lived it, I know better. 17 is an unfortunate and volatile age for love so strong. But it reaffirmed the thought I had when I was 11, that if I were just patient enough, love would find me. And it did.
By the time 19 rolled around I was finished. I had seen enough of love and all it’s horrible friends. I was a shell of a person then, unforgiving and had a lot of what I thought was, well-placed anger. Love sucked. Never again would anyone ever get close to me.
And they didn’t for a long time.
That was when I learned that I was smarter than my emotions. I could turn them off and tune them out. I knew what men wanted and used it against them. I mimicked their tricks and burned them back. I made boys cry. I began to think like a male, understand their motivations, let go of the social “supposed to’s”, and started taking back what I thought was owed me.
I went on like that into my 20s. It was incredibly powerful to be in charge, and I found that I was quite good at it. The irony was, that when I was so cold and so cruel and thoughtless, that’s just when men would profess their undying love for me.
It made no sense.
But I used it to my advantage. I enjoyed the game, because I knew I would always win. I was twisted and sick and having the time of my life. I felt absolutely no remorse for the horrible things I did to perfectly nice men. I couldn’t differentiate between them. Seen one, seen them all – and ain’t none of them any good.
I’m not there anymore. And I’m glad for that. I’m happy to say that love has found me time and again and I don’t turn away anymore. I may have similar thoughts to when I was 11, but our experiences are very different. In many ways it’s like coming full circle – I feel almost as innocent as I did then. I just know a lot more.
So maybe this time, when love finds me ….
(see? I never change)
