The L Word

We’ve had a lot of changes in our lives lately, as usual. One thing that remains the same: the cantankerous nature of the elusive L word. I mean, not elusive in the sense that its never used. “Love” is declared a million billion times a day and has at least that many motivations shoving it out of people’s mouths and into the ears of vulnerable, unsuspecting prey. Its overused to a huge fault, said much too often and much too soon. Its elusive in the sense that it carries no meaning, no punch, no backbone for most who use it. Which is why I don’t use it much. If I say, “I love you,” I mean it and I won’t ever unlove you. I can’t. I have tried and tried and wish I could. Some people I have loved really should be completely pissed away and flushed down the toilet. Nevertheless, they still occupy a dank, chilly borough of my heart. That’s how I’m wired.

I seem very different than that to most, however. Instead of the huge, sensitive, bleeding heart that I am, I seem like a cold, hard bitch who could and will break you in half if the mood strikes. The exterior facade is a learned, necessary shield against the horrible world we live in. The interior hasn’t changed much since I was Anaiah’s age. My heart is the same. I love hard and unconditionally and believe in hundredth chances. A constant battle between heart and head is always going on, and that makes for a very exhausted, disenchanted me.

In the past few months, I’ve been asked more and more why I am “closed” and stick to my very small circle of family and friends. Why don’t I give people a chance? Why don’t I say “I love you” to everyone who says it to me, especially the people who I really do care about? I don’t have sufficient answers, but I have experiences that influence most things in my heart and head. So, I will share some experiences over the next several blog posts and hopefully shed a little light on my journey. Experiences aren’t excuses, just further explanation about why I am the way I am. All of that is the lubed up way to tell you that this is about to be where the “textually explicit” part of the blog begins. Comments are always encouraged and welcomed, but please keep the following in mind: I am not who I was. But part of who I was makes me who I am. And I like who I am.

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