Confession

Love, what a word. Why do people even care? What makes them care? Why is love irrational? Is love irrational? What do people mean when they say love is irrational? That we cannot exert any control over love, perhaps? Such bullshit. As if we could control our own rationality. That would be convenient, wouldn’t it? ‘Hey, I feel like having some mindless amusement, let’s all crank our rationality dial down a few notches!’ Wait, isn’t that called alcohol? Whatever. The funny thing is, I used to be one of them. Look at me, I am in control! Let’s sneer at those pitiful slaves of love. Or maybe it was more of a condescending smirk, with a hidden pinch of envy. 
...Actually, I don’t think I ever cared too much about love. To me, it was something belonging to movies and stories, to dreamers and fools. It was neurotransmitters in the brain. It was evolutionary psychology and it was. Not. Real. How could people believe love existed as something other than a driving factor in humanity’s big damn self-perpetuating cycle of reproduction and death? Yeah, I realize I sound like a fucking edgy and bitter person. I probably still am. So what? I’m sure you thought the same at some point. Sometimes the truth can be bitter. You just have to swallow it down. Like coffee. Seriously, I hate coffee. Why do people even drink that shit? ... I keep getting sidetracked. Must be the whiskey. Just kidding, I also hate whiskey. Ha ha. Right.. I only pretended to like it because he drank it.. After all, that’s what we do, don’t we? we try to fit in. We need to belong. Fuck our social instincts. And yet there I was, cynical and self-righteous, disgustingly full of myself. I didn’t need anyone! I was in control. But was I really? Looking back, I was like a scared child. Let’s close the door to my room! Let’s hide under the covers! Nobody can touch me here! I am safe! I am happy! I am happy, right? This is what it means to be happy, right? Keeping the bad wolf away. The bad wolf is passion, by the way. Gotta love subtle metaphors. I should write some fucking poetry. Need to cut down on the swearing though. Delusion is a powerful thing. I had everything figured out. I was happy, in my own way. My stupid crappy lonely way, perhaps. Creating your own world is dangerous. You get used to it, and then you lose it. Ouch. It hurts. When you first get out of the cave, the sunlight is blinding. I know, what the hell am I talking about? I keep embellishing it. Naked unadulterated truth is what you want to hear, right? Then you shall get it. There I was, a smart, pitiful, confident and self-loathing person. My fake social bravado was my armor. I was not prepared for love. Hell, I was not prepared to even start thinking about falling in love. Yet love does not care. It hits you like a fucking freight train. There I go again with the fancy metaphors, haha. But it’s true! Although it’s an invisible train, I might add. Sneakily worming its way inside your head. You lie to yourself about your budding feelings. Then you realize it’s too late. The world is cruel, after all.. How could I not love him? He is everything I wished I could be. Real intelligence and grace, as opposed to my fucking fake affectations. Intense gaze and a soft smile. Effortlessly handsome. I feel like an impostor just by being next to him. And yet I am drawn to him, like a moth to the flame. Fucking poetic, isn’t it? I desperately put all of my bluffing skills into making myself look better, smarter, nicer. This only made me realize how pathetic I really was. Everything, everything that I used to define myself with crumbled into pieces. And yet destruction is a much simpler process than creation. Changing yourself is much harder than it seems and it seems pretty damn fucking hard in the first place. So, I bet you already know what I did next: I simply did what I’m best at. I ran away. I could not face him anymore. I could not face my friends, I could not face my family. Most of all, I could not face myself..shit, just thinking about it now makes me feel so frustrated. You cannot run from love. Love will just fester within you, hurting like a bitch. What else should I have expected? Whatever ridiculously low chances I might have had, I threw them away. Instead of achieving any kind of closure, I got myself a lifetime supply of misery and regret, to be delivered in daily doses. I’m not stupid, I tried getting therapy. It even helped, somewhat. The longing grew more bearable, my self-loathing got less intense. I could even look at my reflection in a mirror again, without feeling the urge to smash it. Months passed. Suddenly, a year had gone by. Now I want to go back. I am scared at what I could find there. I received a message the other day. It was him. I don’t know what he knows about me. I am even afraid to know. Some things just don't change, haha. How pathetic, yeah? But who the fuck cares? Is there any shame in being pathetic? I was finally able to realize that I was the one inflicting that awful sense of shame on myself. Or perhaps I knew it all along, but the tough part is to be able to act on your knowledge. I’ve always been more of a theory-driven person, after all. So yeah, I think I was able to come to terms with myself. Embracing your flaws sounds fucking cheesy, but it’s exactly what I’m trying to do here. This is what I’m writing this fucking stupid heartfelt confession. I know you were always curious about what happened to me, so now there you go! Are you satisfied? I sure as hell hope so, because now I’m gonna ask you a favor. I am not ready to face him yet, but perhaps this cowardly confession might reach him somehow. I know he likes to read rational stories. Put it on there: I don’t care if other people see it, but don’t change anything. I want to reveal my true self, at least once in my life. I don’t believe in miracles, but I sure as hell hope for one. What a paradox. Laughter and tears. After all, without love, the truth cannot be seen.

F