I have to admit, this last failed relationship – him, my Derrick, what he was, what we were together and what we weren’t – has had a profound effect on me. All relationships that end have an impact, certainly, but this time, it feels different. It has completely changed how I feel about love and I’m starting to wonder…is it meant for me?
It’s not that I don’t believe in love, it’s not that I don’t believe in its existence and the power that it has to transform lives. I’ve seen it, witnessed it, and know so many people who have had the wondrous luck and fair fortune to have found it.
What I don’t believe in, is me. I’m the common denominator in every relationship I’ve ever had. I love too hard, with too much of myself, and too soon. I have craved love, feigned for love…and so I have loved the wrong men, the men who were simply there, the men who didn’t really love me, the men who treated me poorly, the men who were broken and tried to break me, in return.
It’s not that I don’t trust love, no, not at all. It’s that I don’t trust myself.