Love

Love. I almost began spilling out Corinthians out of habit. Patience. Kindness. Not jealous. Not boastful. Endures all things. All of this is true, sure. But I can feel myself hardening. I can feel myself even right now as I'm typing allowing anger to come into me and I'm fighting to urge to let it consume me. Love. A fairy tale. Hah. Oh, but deep down, aren't I the girl that believes in fairy tales? I'm a hopeless romantic. But I shouldn't be. I shouldn't be a lot of things.

Infidelity. Cheating. Unfaithfulness. Broken trust. Unfortunately I cannot say that I am innocent of the crime. Even if it wasn't more than a kiss. But even saying that statement am I trying to make myself feel better? Is there no honor in this world? Is there no honor in me? I pride myself in being faithful and loyal and keeping my word but really how can I? Even if the relationship I was in was spiraling out of control and circumstances were too much to handle and honestly in a certain way I was taken advantage because I was in a very vulnerable state...but there I go again, making excuse. What am I even doing bringing this up? Is this the point of the blog? Not exactly. What's the point of anything? Dating someone of course is not the same as being married. Sharing a kiss is not the same as having sex. Ending a relationship is not the same as ending a marriage. What I'm trying to say is maybe, where does love fit into all of this? Where is love in anything?

I grew up in a home where all there was non stop was people yelling at each other. My parents fought all the time. I don't remember hugs and kisses. Hand holding. I just remember learning Spanish through their arguments, slammed doors, and listening to my mom cry and then slowly being her outlet. As the years progressed, as things moved on and situations changed I still never really saw love. Tim seemed to treat my mom well but my mom never seemed satisfied. And after years of the same thing, yelling seemed like the only way you communicate in my home. I hate to yell. What I thought looked like love though wasn't. Or maybe what I tried to force into looking like love. Because yesterday night my stepdad got kicked out and although I'm a state away I can imagine an empty spot above my mom and his bed where their wedding picture hung just a few short days ago.

My love life hasn't been exactly spot on either. When I was fifteen I liked a boy I sat next to who kept asking to borrow a pencil. He never needed a pencil. He just wanted a chance to talk to me. I remember where he asked me to be his girlfriend. Oh high school. I remember the first time he put his arms around me and how strange and comforting it felt to be in a guy's arms. I remember the first time he held my hand. When he sent me a text message and asked me if he could kiss me at school and I freaked out and sent him a text back and told him I didn't think I was ready. But that weekend at the movies watching the movie Taxi I got kissed for the first time, and my second, and my third and my.... Three months later I thought I was in love, and maybe in some sort of high school way, I was, but he broke up with me heading into my last period and I spent the first 15 minutes crying in the bathroom until a security guard found me and then promptly escorted me to the counselor's office. That first heartbreak hurt. A couple months later Jeremy stalked me on a church retreat. Literally stalked me. I should have seen a giant red flag right there. Oh but I fell deep and fast for that older Italian junior who was slightly dangerous, romantic, troubled, and wanted and seemed to need me like I was vital to his survival. He was obsessive and demanding and emotionally abusive. And wanted things I never wanted to give. I always felt like I had to save him from something. Like I had to inspire him to be better than he was being. It wore me down. He wore me down. He would belittle me but then he would do sweet things for me and tell me he would love me and I would get caught. My insecurity and low self-esteem would get the best of me. I just wanted to be loved. Jeremy just got worse. The situation got extremely complicated and my past jumped out of me and my childhood sweetheart showed up in my life. Chase was wonderful and he came all the way from Vegas to come to a dance with me. He did everything right and we were great together. But Jeremy was here, and Chase was there. And Jeremy had promised me forever. He promised to be better. I lost my chance with Chase and took a fool's gamble and lost. Jeremy only wanted to use me up. He became more obsessive and demanding. He began pressuring me more and ignoring me. All Jeremy wanted from me was sex. He pinned me to the bed one day and yelled at me and said if I wouldn't give it to him I didn't love him. When I refused he tried to force his way in. This is love. I managed to free myself. A few days later I was at his house for New Year's. We were alone. Before the clock hit midnight I was driving home crying. Three years down the drain. Just a couple months later I was with Chris. With him, I thought I had it right. I'm shaking right now. I don't want to publicize to the world everything that went wrong with us. I have never loved anyone so much. I don't love anyone so much. This is love.

I see Jamie and Shehan and I smile. I listen to them argue over silly little things and I laugh to myself. They have it right. But maybe it's just them. I'm glad Jamie has it. Whatever this love is. I'm glad maybe it exists.