In the last couple of months, I met a lot of people that made me realize I know more about their relationships than about themselves as a person. I hope I’ll never come to a day when the only thing worth mentioning about me is someone else. At the same time, I realize one crucial thing.
I don’t talk about my love life.
I have no issue admitting to the world the worst things about me. I freely shared the darkest days of my life in excruciating details. I own up to every stupid thing I ever did. I could talk about my mental health issues for hours. I could tell you what it was like to visit a psychiatrist. How antidepressants made me feel like a functional human being. I could tell you about the times I kept hurting myself just because I hated my body. I could tell you how shamefully it felt to admit to my family I had a depression and being yelled out for making it up.
I could describe to you the freeing feeling I got when I dropped out of university. I could tell you about the nights I cried myself to sleep. I could tell you how frustrating it is to live with a panic disorder. I could tell you about my crushed dreams. I could tell you about the time my heart broke when my best friend told me she’s gonna live with my ex-boyfriend and I need to move out of our home as soon as possible. I could tell you about every single terrible thing that ever happened to me.
But the moment you ask me about my love life it’s when things get too personal.
It doesn’t really matter if I’m asked if I’m dating someone, fucking someone, texting someone, or being involved with someone in any other way. Every time I get asked about my love life I can feel a huge red alert popping up in my mind warning me to not speak another word.
It’s the barest part of my soul I can’t just share with anyone. Every time I did it backfired so I’m morbidly careful now.
My trust issues have trust issues.
All I keep thinking about is how could this personal information about my love life, be used against me in the future.
I hit a brick wall every time I’m forced to talk about it. I cringe and I panic and I just can’t talk about it without immediate regret. Running away from it or changing the subject is what I’m good at.
Don’t worry. I’m well aware there is something seriously wrong with me.
I spend weeks gathering the courage to tell my mum about my first boyfriend.
I and my parents never talked about our feelings. It’s not like I had overcome something traumatic as a child to make me so emotionally distant. We just never talked about it and that was it.
I remember the time I heard my mum say she love me around my 18 birthday and I broke down crying later on. I’m 24 now and I still don’t know how to cope with people showing me affection or appreciation even when I seek it so desperately.
Having depression for the most part of your life kinda puts shit into a different perspective. I can’t be bothered to talk about my crush when I’m barely talking at all. I don’t care about finding a boyfriend when I haven’t slept in months.
And now I have a grown-up friend chit-chatting about boys like teenagers and I can’t force myself to give a damn and chit-chat with them.
I don’t know how old they are, what they believe in, where they came from, or what’s their goal in life but I know so much about their ex-boyfriend even I miss the guy.
I’m all up to giving relationship advice like a pro without once mentioning anything personal from my love life.
It’s a grand mystery and it’s gonna remind one.
Am I dating? Am I whoring around? More on the next episode of minding your own business.