Fear and Love

I have lived most of my life in fear. It's the defining emotion and motivator of my nearly 3 decades on this planet. And it's been closely tied to love for most of that time.

Growing up, the love my parents presented was from themselves and from their religion. Both loves were tied to fear. Both loves were called unconditional, but were described with conditions. I was always terrified of fucking up, terrified of not deserving the love, of losing it. And I was right to be. SO many parts of me, from my queerness, my inquisitiveness, my competitiveness, weren't "right", needed to be eradicated, so that I could be loved. So I did it. I was taught early on, if I was messed up and not deserving of the love I wanted, it was up to me to remove the offending aspects of myself, regardless of how much it hurt to do so. I ended up fractured, scattered.

My ex brought a new version of fear and love. I spent years thinking I needed to help him, to fix him. I somehow thought it was possible. If I failed, he would get angry, and say horrible things. If I failed, he would threaten me and try to hurt me, or even kill me. If I failed, he would kill himself. If I failed, none of that mattered, anyway, because a failure doesn't deserve to be loved, so why keep living? Again, fear and love, tied together so tightly I have to force myself not to type inextricably linked. Because I can't believe it's inextricable.

With you, the fear is there. There's fear of loss, of pain. And much of it is warranted. I've been hurt, by others, by you. And to love is to risk almost unbearable pain. But I'm becoming aware of how detrimental this fear is. How much it limits me. How sneakily it works to push you away. My jealousy is mostly insecurity, but it often plays out as emotional self-harm. I push you, damage us, to ensure that any pain I suffer is of my own making. I'm desperate to not be rejected. I want to feel like I'm controlling it. But I can't.

In some ways, staying with you, fighting for our relationship, is the biggest act of submission possible for me. It's imperfect, and sometimes I still fight for control. But ultimately, I'm giving you the ability to hurt me. I'm working hard not to try to take over for the false sense of security it brings. I want to trust you with my everything. Little by little, I want to give you my fear. In some ways these bizarre emotional outbursts are just that. With my family, my faith, my ex, I never expressed this fear. Not once. Because to be aware of the fear made me feel automatically unworthy of the love. You fucking terrify me. And every time I tell you that, every time I scream it in your face, know that what I'm actually doing is trusting you with the idea that sometimes I don't feel worthy of being loved. I'm trusting you to show me again that I'm wrong. I love you so very much. Fear is a weird gift for someone you love, but that's what I'm giving you.