I had a skewed idea of romantic love. I blame it on my early exposure to romance books and shoujo anime and on my impressionable, young mind that, unfortunately, zeroed in on the angst. I thought overly jealous and possessive characters were adorable. I was convinced miscommunication and drama between partners are vital, otherwise the love is fake.
My brain assumed that my takeaways from these works translated into real life. So, when I finally got attracted to another person, I pulled conclusions from my misconceptions. Worse, I kind of took them to the extremes.
It is normal to feel a bit of jealousy and possessiveness when you’re romantically attracted to someone, but it was just my luck that I didn’t do normal. My version of romantic love is akin to a fan smitten with a pop artist and desiring to consume everything about the person, but raised to unhealthy levels. Attraction, for me, morphed into an obsession so passionate it made love an afterthought.
Instead of nurturing my initial attraction so it could bloom into genuine love, I hyper-fixated on the object of my desire. I interpreted every gesture and interaction to suit my ideals and devoted myself to them without asking for their opinion. I totally forgot I was dealing with a human being.
But, weirdly enough, I didn’t convey my all-consuming feelings to my person. My pathetically repressed self deemed it wise to leave my obsession to fester because letting the other party know how much I badly want to own them would be overbearing, if not downright creepy.
Of course, with nothing to channel my obsessive feelings to, the emotion turned into a big ball of unused energy sapping me from the inside.
I think some of my obsessive tendencies seeped out, but not so much as to creep out the other party. I have to thank my perpetually cold, unimpressed exterior for that. I would bet the people I was attracted to had no clue that I was hopelessly and helplessly addicted to them.
I should be proud of my efforts to contain my tendencies as they protected me from being vulnerable. But, sadly, my approach didn’t save me from the heartbreak. The people I was obsessed with moved on to other things without knowing my intense feelings for them, and I was stuck with all this pent-up love.
I ended up mourning for my obsessive love because it didn’t reach its target. As I grieved, my other insecurities resurfaced and overwhelmed me until I arrived at the illogical, depressive conclusion that the universe is better off without me.
Consequently, I refused to meet people for fear I’d confirm my thoughts about myself — that I was unwanted, unloved, and a burden. That no one likes me enough to take my hand gently and tell me they want me in their lives. My dopamine-deprived brain decided isolating myself was for the best.
I regret those spiraling thoughts now, though, because they blocked me from seeing more innocent and vital forms of love. My clouded mind didn’t let me see past my self-hatred and apathy, so I missed how my family and friends treated me so lovingly. My thinking built a barrier between me and other people’s sincerity, and I’d walked the world blind.
But human persistence combined with unwavering love had a way of crumbling even the most impenetrable walls. Loved ones showered me affection with tenacity, eventually weathering and softening my barriers.
I gradually became more comfortable accepting other people’s love for what it is. I find simple gestures comforting now, be it a warm smile or advice, even something as mundane as random sharing of memes and Spotify tracks. I now take and appreciate and try my hardest to reciprocate, when in the past, I would overthink and speculate about any ulterior motives and respond with cold silence.
I have now learned to accept, by default, that people show they care because they want to and not because of any self-serving reason. It is easier to experience love that way than doubting everybody.
Also, acceptance is now easier because the love I conceded to receive and tried to return isn’t romantic. The kind of love I experience these days is warm and encompassing, gentle and undemanding. A friendly, brotherly love that isn’t blind but still forgiving. Sometimes admonishing, but overall, fulfilling.
It’s the kind of love that is helping me rebuild myself, over and over.
I will always have reservations about romantic love because it’s scary to regress to that obsessive downward spiral again. So, I focus on the emotion’s other forms. And what a joy to do so, as I can readily experience them through my family, friends, and pets!
I had struggled to understand what love is in its truest sense for years, but I’m finally, slowly getting it now. And I want to continue learning by gradually accepting and returning love’s many forms people give me kindly, minus the romantic tone.
Maybe I’ll revisit romantic love with a more considerate, less-obsessive approach in the future. And maybe learn to communicate my intentions first like an actual, functioning adult.
But for now, I want to bask in the pure, unconditional love I had the fortune of receiving and give back in the best way I could. I’ll gladly exchange the short-lived giddiness of romantic attraction for the deep-rooted bliss pure love brings. And I’ll take comfort in knowing that such love is an inexhaustible resource enough to last me a lifetime.
