Love Thyself

I need time to discover myself. I've spent so much time trying to find people to attach myself to that I lost my senses in all the chaos. I forgot that I could be a stand alone person that others could gravitate to. A person others can identify with instead of identifying myself in relation to others. I allowed myself to be blown  here and there, back and forth by the opinions and criticisms of others. I lost myself, my sense of pride and respect for the person that I am... Whoever that may be.

I tried to find love in others without realizing that I couldn't love them. In my eyes, showing that I needed them was love. I honestly didn't know what love was. Perhaps I still don't. I told men that I wanted them, desired them, needed them. Is that love? To want and desire for the sole sake of having, but have nothing to offer? No. It can't be. It no longer makes sense to me.

I need to love myself in order to know what I can offer. In order to know what I'm worth. I'm still learning. It's a path I've rarely taken, if at all. Sure, I've avoided harm, pain, and heartache, but is that love? Could I call it love when all that has driven me are my superficial desires directed towards another and the avoidance of harm? Did I ever think to offer myself to myself? Did I ever think to give myself the pleasures that I wanted from others? How foolish was I to not look to myself for the simplest yet most enigmatic of things? Love.

I am capable of love. Everyone is. I think so, at least. However, I never asked myself if I could be capable of loving myself. To love oneself. It sounds good, doesn't it? A perpetuating cycle of confidence, validation, strength, happiness, and hope. Could that be right? Can I define self-love as that? The will to give oneself undeterred hope for the future, validation of worth, and all-encompassing happiness? Who would get in my way? It would be a relationship between me... and me. It's beautiful. I want it for myself.

To want such beautiful things for myself. That's the first step right?

Stepping Away from the Past

I'm done with my third semester of college and I'm back at my parents' house for winter break. As my grades are coming in one by one, I come to realize that I've actually made some progress. Not just academically, but at a personal level as well. I believe that I'm actually starting to regain the momentum I lost almost five years ago.

I've told this story of the First so many times, to myself and to others, in an attempt to make sense of all that had happened. A part of me blamed myself as I accused myself of being too foolish or too naive. Another part of me blamed him for he knew that I wanted a love. Every failure and every regret I've come across I have blamed on the First and his mistreatment. I blamed him for breaking me, for stealing from me, and ultimately for fooling me. I was a freshman in high school and he was a senior from a different school. He seemed perfect. He was a gentleman. I felt as if my fantasies of being swept away by some prince came true. I was happy and did not question it. I associated being gay with finding a man, and I believed he was that man. I gave myself to him because I couldn't fathom future harm, especially being inflicted by him who I thought to be perfect. I thought it to be absolutely unlikely that the first man I'd allow to touch me would actually be the one that could hurt me; no man, no person, has ever hurt me as much.

For a few years I just coasted through life. I refused to seek life as I was too afraid of possibly being hurt again. For a long time, I thought that I'd never gain closure. I never saw him after that time and I thought that the only way I could move on was to see him face-to-face. For years I imagined seeing him in person and the things I would say to him. Being a psychology student, I was always tempted to diagnose him with some sort of psychological disorder to explain his behavior towards me. I realized that I would be giving him too much credit as a person; the First was nothing more than a jackass sans the disorder.

I kept myself from moving on with my life because I wanted to believe that the same man may change his mind someday. I kept one foot in the past because I wanted to believe that all my bad experiences would amount to something of worth. Ironically, by keeping myself stagnant, I was subjecting myself to more hurt and sacrifice. Yes, sometimes to reminisce for a few short moments means to feel a small tinge of pain from my past, but it's just enough to keep me from going back.

I'm moving on and the sense of self I've recently gained is liberating. There were times that I feared acceptance of my past, believing that it would lead me to become jaded, hopeless, and defeatist. It's the other way around, actually. The past has happened and the events are rigid and limited. I cannot change the past even if I try to find a different, more ideal answer from what is certain and absolute. The future, on the other hand, is still uncertain. Scary and mysterious, yes, but full of possibilities and hope for sure. I have a new found hunger and curiosity for life and possibilities. I want to live and feel again.

I still believe in love and I know I'm still capable of love. I was badly hurt once and it's one of the deepest of the pains I've experienced because he was my first, but I can't let my past demons control me or it will become a cycle of pain that finds legitimacy in itself. Tomorrow will be the five-year anniversary of when I lost my virginity, when my expectations of life, love, and men seemed to have shattered and fallen apart. But I refuse to let regret keep its hold on me any longer. From all the broken pieces I can make a beautiful mosaic.

No matter what, even if the fallen and shattered pieces don't fit perfectly together, somehow I can make something beautiful from them.