Never enough. Or am I too much?
Unlucky in love is what I am for sure.
You’re cool, a good girl. An awesome woman who is smart, funny, caring, nurturing with a good head on your shoulder. Any man would be more than lucky to have you on his arm as his life partner or wife. That man isn’t me though.
The all too familiar ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ send off.
When I find myself in the same situation repeatedly, I am compelled to do some self-assessment which begs me to question…
-What am I doing that lands me here over and over again?
-What is it about me that drives them away or gives them pause?
-Why am I not enough?
Here I am, almost 50…wondering.
Am I unlovable? Oh, I’m fuckable…friendable (is that even a word), one with whom you can have deep meaningful conversations on everything from world politics, religion, to social issues and the latest fads, laugh, joke and be your silly self. But, I cannot have your heart.
All of the aforementioned is what he (each and every “he”) wants in his life partner/wife/mate…sans me.
Oh, but we can still be friends.
Yeah…. NO. I am not into collecting male friends like souvenir magnets to hang on the refrigerator door.
Another thing I know for certain is I am tired. I am sad. I have virtually no hope that things will change. I have nothing left to offer in the area of optimism. It is time to accept the hard truth that I will probably be alone forever. My RSVP will never include a plus one.
Well-meaning loved ones rush to offer words of encouragement and positive antidotes to affirm admonitions of how important they think it is to remain hopeful and steadfast.
Not now. Please…. Not. Now.
Sit with me. Hold my hand. Hug me tightly…quietly.