Unlovable.

I feel unlovable.

Not in the sense of some deep desperate despair, but in the sense that I am a mix of character traits, assets and defects that I’m not entirely sure anyone can get past enough to fall in love with me.  I am not lovable in the sense that I am painfully awkward and say the worst things at the worst times.  I am not lovable in that I will always be seen by potential lovers as “crazy” because of my mental health.  I am not loveable in that I am neurotic, and difficult to be around for long periods of time.  I am not lovable in that I have traumatic experiences which cloud potentially amazing experiences.  I am not lovable in that I am physically unfit, unhealthy, and misshapen.  I am not lovable in that on occasion I am gripped with paralyzing, crippling and debilitating anxiety caused by mostly nothing at all.  I am not lovable in that I have a double chin that makes me look and feel like a Thumb-thumb.  I am not lovable in that I am passionate and morbid and dark.  I am not lovable in that I have never really felt like I fit in.  I am unlovable in that I am plagued by medically issues and as a result I end up looking and feeling terrible while simultaneously scaring those around me.  I am not lovable in that I’m always a bit off-color and running late.  And I am not lovable, in that I don’t know how to love.

Not many people know this, but when I am asked about my “first love,” the person I always think of was my ex ‘The Devil’.  I have said it more times than I would ever care to admit, although what I felt for him has always been different and better and worse than any of the others.  I hate that I told so many people that I love them out of habit.  It bothers me now.  It also bothers me that the one time when it meant something. . . I would end up feeling this pain for so long.  I don’t regularly feel the pain of his loss, only when I forget how thinking about it hurts.

Today I made some irrational turns while I was driving.  I think I thought I had enough money to buy some gloves to work with at my house on a few projects, and was distracted by my dying phone battery as well which all caused me to make a weird right hand turn.  But I digress.  I drove back across the street into the Ace Hardware parking lot and I see an old friend sitting under the shade of a tree.  I waved, and he returned the wave – clearly not having a clue as to who I was.  I pulled into a parking spot, and played with my phone for a bit before I stepped out of the truck.

My friend, whom I met through ‘The Devil,’ goes, “Oh!  It’s MO!” I then walked over to him and asked how he was doing.  The conversation was fine until he asked me if I had seen The Devil.

And that’s when my heart hurt.  I read once that there is a syndrome called ‘Broken heart syndrome,’ and that there are these delicate strings that are attached to your heart and hold your heart in place, and when the heart is stressed enough, those strings can break which can then lead to death. One of the more common stressors for this to happen is heartbreak.

My heart still hurts.  I wonder if I snapped any of those heartstrings.  I should have known that he never loved me.  Or maybe he was telling the truth.  What he said…I can’t think about it too much because I don’t want to induce the anxiety attack.  I had one Friday.  I was paralyzed and stayed in my room in complete darkness because I simply could not deal.  I’m starting to run out of medications for that.

Again, I digress.

I don’t know why he said he loved me.  I know that the Asshole never did, if anything he absolutely hated me.  If he could hate.  I’m of the opinion that he might possibly be a sociopath.  Whatever the case, I know I’m unlovable.

I have some awesome selling points.  Clearly, however, it is not enough to be as awesome as I am without the blonde hair, perky tits and fit and toned body.  I don’t know how I could ever let someone stay over when I sleep with a CPAP mask on my face and wear a mouth guard.  I am not sexy.  I’m clumsy and awkward about nearly everything I do.  And I have absolutely no idea how to flirt, or what it would look like if someone was flirting with me.

Whether or not any of this is true, this is what I feel.  And what I perceive.  It was recently brought to my attention that I see my life through the eyes of someone with depression and mania.  I don’t know what it means to see my life as ‘normal’.  I wouldn’t have any idea how to be smooth, calm and collected.  I don’t know if I will ever be able to be with anyone.  I believe I am too damaged.  And I’m truly ok with being alone.  I like it.  But I hate that I’m so easily glossed over as I am.

Some days I simply have no idea what is real anymore.  I believe that if it were not for my animals I would have given up a long time ago. Because with them, always, I know I am loved unconditionally.  I can never tell that with humans.