I'm done, I'm done, I'm fucking done.
I'm so done missing someone who doesn't even exist. This loneliness thing is becoming one colossal waste of time. I refuse to do it anymore.
I've been single for a while now, and I don't know if you've tried it, but being single in the middle of a pandemic? You'd be better off trying to get a Netflix original made out your super interesting tweets. Plus, there's the factor of "I'm not ready, I'm focusing on myself" narrative that I've woven so perfectly and I use it as a shield more often then I used a mask in 2020.
But really, none of this stops the feeling of loneliness creeping in on an unsuspecting Thursday night after my tennis game, as I crash tiredly onto my bed. I'm left with a pit in my stomach, suddenly craving wine and writing sappy letters to nobody.
It's so time-consuming, to be caught up in these feelings. I would have had a productive evening planned of my dancing to Beyoncé alone in my bedroom, and I accidently catch the sads, and there go my plans. And it happens far too often, for me to let it fucking slide.
No, no, no, I can't be the alpha of my own life and still allow this phantom emptiness to distract me from who I really am, and turn me into a slobbering, melting puddle of neediness.
So, I decided I'm done.
When I say done, I mean done.
I'm giving up on love.
Super easy, barely an inconvenience.
No, don't feel sorry for me, don't tell me that my person is out there somewhere, and that love is right around the corner.
It's well-meaning, and love might as well be around the corner. But it's not worth the trouble of countless lonely nights. It just isn't. It's not worth me not being my true self, not even for one more night. Not for someone who I don't even know exists. I just don't know, and that's the truth. I think of nobody except for a piercing emptiness, and guilt for not having someone specific to think of when I hear a love song, and I'd rather skip it, the song, the feeling et. al.
My heart still hurts too damn much from the weight of all my past loves that turned to stone. I'm not even ready to open it to someone new and let them in. I can't even imagine it.
I think back to how unconditional, and infinite my love used to be. I used to love someone to the depths of the ocean. My love was the sound of galaxies exploding. Love used to be as easy as a heartbeat.
And now I search for my love, and it's the size of a speck of sand. I don't trust anyone, and I have no love to give them. I just don't. I'm sorry if it sounds harsh, but it's the truth, and I've been feeling better ever since I could admit it. I couldn't pretend anymore. I have no love to give, and no-one I trust. I said that twice.
My loneliness reminds me. It haunts me. It chokes the life out of me. It only shows me what I don't have. And suddenly that's all I can see. What's missing. I am suddenly blind to all the progress I've made, months of my hard work, and all I can see is what I don't have.
And frankly, I deserve better.
I don't know if anyone has broken up with their loneliness, but I decided I am.
I want to feel empowered again. I want to feel truly comfortable in my own skin. I want to pour strength into all the spaces loneliness has carved inside of me. I refuse to let loneliness get the better of me. I am going to get the best of me.
The journey to my best self.
I think my best self sometimes hides under the skin of a girl who cries herself to sleep sometimes, and she just needs the right motivation to come out and play.
I needed stop hiding under the blanket of a flimsy excuse of "working on myself" and truly, truly start working on myself.
I needed to feel sexy, confident, badass in who I am. I needed to feel strong, stylish, and sophisticated. I needed to feel enough.
I refuse to fill the spaces in my body be filled by an idea of you, you perfect concept of lover, friend, and partner. No, no, no, I decided I'll fill it with muscle instead. I think it's an abs-olutely wonderful plan, don't you?
A hopeless romantic that I am, I need to romanticize something else though, something to help me sleep peacefully at night. And I decided that something would be me, working on me, blood, sweat, tears on getting into the best shape of my life.
I am going to fucking romanticize me.
You might think it's shallow, but honestly, I think working on my core is the way to work on my core. I'd like to look in the mirror and see myself as a strong, empowered, sexy individual. Self-love doesn't come easy. I want the etches on my body to be reminders of how hard I'm working on myself, every damn day. I'm working on my mind, my career, my lifestyle, my friendships... But my body is the only real physical manifestation of all my progress. And I'd like that evidence. I'd like to look in the mirror and see my growth. Actually see it. And I'd like to feel badass.
I need to see myself clearly again.
And if giving up on love is the cost of my unadulterated focus on myself, then I am truly at peace with that.
Someday, maybe you'll come alone, a non-idea version of you, maybe you'll love me, maybe I'll love you. But on all the nights you aren't here, I just want to have me. And I want the best. The best version of me.