Vulnerability

I wrote this post at the tail end of last year when I was on my way back from NYC, I'm just an epic faff and am only just getting round to posting it. Enjoy. 

The guy sitting next to me is writing. If this were a book or a movie he'd strike up a conversation about our shared love of literature, he'd ask me for my number, and in a few short weeks I'd be meeting his parents over brunch whilst secretly thanking the gods that there was only a 0.0001% chance of him meeting mine. 

I'm not a fan of parental introductions. 

Obviously, real life isn't like that. After striking up a brief conversation about millennial cliches, instagramable beverages and the possibility of paying my rent in exposure, I returned my attention to season 2 of You. Attempting to distract myself from the fact that my left butt cheek has gone to sleep and I still have 8 hours of this journey to go. That fantasy is over, the hypothetical spark extinguished before it even had a chance to light. The candle burnt out. 

One of the benefits of this extinguished premature fantasy, other than the possibility of its invading my preference for solo and (semi) isolated living, is that I'm prevented from falling into the deathly relationship trap I seem to find so comfortable. The role of the life time I never auditioned for, the part no one really wants. 

Yes, I finally figured it out. I'm a carer. 

When I was a teenager my mum had an eating disorder. Now, aside from desperately craving and suffering from one of my own, a significant part of my teen years were spent trying to get her to eat. Now I find it impossible to separate myself from the worry that she might have stopped eating again. 

My mum wanted to be thin, I wanted to be thin and loved. In my eyes, I was neither.

Recently I've come to realise that, ever since then, I've fallen into the pattern of trying to form relationships with people that I felt needed looking after. My first boyfriend had no dad, my second had no dad and (ironically) an eating disorder and my ex who had no dad and depression. 

Do you see a pattern forming? 

In total, I've dated four guys who had no father figure, three with mental health issues and at least two who were in love with their exes. Regardless of their personal situations, the majority had two things in common. I subconsciously wanted to take care of them and, in the end they didn't care about me. 

What I'm trying to work out on this obnoxiously long journey, back to Canada is not just why I find myself in situations with people I want to care for but also why I can't find someone to care for me. 

Despite my balls out attitude to personal honesty and my refusal to conceal myself, I'm really bad at letting people get close to me. Don't worry this isn't an "I'm a tortured soul no one understands me" trope, but rather a complete and utter fear of being vulnerable. 

The issue of vulnerability is an interesting one. If we are required to open ourselves up in order to find love, how do we cope with the accompanying vulnerability that comes along? As a borderline, it's ingrained in me that people will leave. For whatever reason, I assume one day they're just not going to be there anymore and so I close myself off from forming new relationships with people to avoid the pain that comes with their departure. The pleasure of having someone near me does not negate the pain that remains when they leave. I'd rather have nothing at all. 

xXx