Redundancy

So I’ve realized a pathological redundancy to my relationships. Everything’s great the first two months, love, happiness, joy. Thoughts of marriage. Then something happens. Something goes off in my mind and I retreat inward. It becomes more about myself. Less about them. I let them put the effort in and I somehow think they’ll continue putting the effort in. So about a month later I’m emotionally detached and they’re totally frustrated. They do rash things, they have needs. I don’t respond. We break up. They’re emotional. I’m not. Then one of two things happen. Either I accept the break up, or I realize I just lost something absolutely amazing. In the first scenario I’m emotionally removed to the point where I am just a cold indifferent stranger. Not sensitive, not caring. Just distant. And it doesn’t matter. I’ve moved on. It may hurt a little, but I recover. In the second scenario, I realize I’m losing someone I value. I realize that I actually did love this person, that I need to take corrective action. I don’t think I’ve ever recovered a relationship beyond this point. Once the girl has felt the rejection, the cold distance, there’s usually no coming back. Truth is, it’s rare if I ever truly want it to come back.

But what would I have to do to win her back? To show her that I’m done giving up. That I want her and I wanna work for it. What on earth do I need to do? It might be a problem that that’s even a question. I should be running after them, no? What would that look like?

So I love her. Why do I pull away? God. It’s happened like this for how long? How many relationships? It’s predictable. I can say there are differences in every relationship, but there aren’t. Sure there are commonalities, but the fact is when I see potential in getting hurt or vulnerable, I just fold inward. It’s sad, I think. I’m not even sure that’s it. I just don’t know what else to think.

It crushes me to think that I haven’t been emotionally available for her. That I’ve been in my own world, that she’s somehow become a chore, a second responsibility. I hate myself for it. And it’s not them. It’s me. Something happens in me. A shift in attitude, in esteem. It prevents me from feeling. It kills me to think that they’ve been with me, and I haven’t been there for them. Agh. It hurts just thinking about it. So many relationships. I have had it. I am done. No more being a coward. So is that it?

No. In the end I don’t think it has anything to do with being a coward. I think it has something more to do with being free and passionate, and relationships seem to depreciate that wild life. They function to steal away a piece of my freedom, a piece of my inner world, and I can never let that happen.