Myself
V.I.VI
MYSELF
It was still all very new with Marco. Right when we felt we were heading somewhere, the world seemed to have suddenly turned against us. What? I’m being overly dramatic? Okay, okay, sorry – I’ll tone it down.
When I received the news I’d finally be going back to hospital, I realised we couldn’t be around each other anymore – not for the foreseeable future anyways. Both of us knew it wouldn’t be easy. A long-distance relationship on such a tiny island… The day before I moved out, we had spent the night together. I knew it could be months before we’d be together again. By then we were officially together. We clicked in a way I never did with anyone else, except maybe with Pedro.
I had grown to love him. I loved him, but saying it would have been cruel – especially since he had told me he had never been in love before, and especially since we’d have to be apart. I held on strong. I kept those three words from falling out of my mouth. And then I remembered what had happened with Alex. Those three words that would forever remain unspoken. I had promised myself I’d never do that again. I had promised myself. Then I remembered Mark Sloan’s words…
“I want you to promise me something. If you love someone, you tell them. Even if you’re scared that it’s not the right thing. Even if you’re scared that it will cause problems. Even if you’re scared it will burn your life to the ground. You say it, and you say it loud. And then you go from there…”
It was to Paramore’s Last Hope that I broke. I started sobbing like a baby. I took him in my arms and for the first time in my life, I let go of my pride, I let go of my fear, and I just said it: “I love you.” With a tearful goodbye, I promised we’d make it work. That our love was worth the pain. That we’d get through it.
Only as time went by did I start to realise we wouldn’t. We’d always have the same argument over and over: that I was always too busy, that I always put him last, that a ten-minute videocall couldn’t possibly be enough to maintain a relationship.
The way I saw it was that I was already moving heaven and earth to cope with this new routine. I had way too much on my plate, and I couldn’t keep up with everything. Something just had to give. Somehow, against all odds, I was still keeping it together. I was still managing to do everything I had planned, and it was all perfectly balanced – there was no room for more. And that’s what he wanted: more. I knew he deserved more. I knew he deserved better. And I couldn’t give him that – I couldn’t be that for him. There could either be an us or a me, and I chose myself. So, I took myself out of the equation. It was one of the most painful things I ever did, but I had to do it.
There I was, all alone again. But this time… it felt… right? You know, in the past, when something would be going great, I’d press the self-destruct button and bam – it’d be over in a heartbeat. Marius, master of self-sabotage. Back then it was out of fear of commitment. I was still green and had no idea how to navigate the waters of relationships. That’s what broke Pedro and me up. It was me wanting out, to be free, to be on my own. But this? This was something different.
In fact, it was Marco’s own words that made me realise what it was. He had told me that with the right person, it shouldn’t feel like you’re going out of your way to give them time. You’d do it effortlessly, without a second thought. Giving up your time for them wouldn’t be a sacrifice because it’s actually something you want to do, not something you’re forced to do. When he said those words, I had no idea what to say. For the first time in my life, I was at a loss for words. Was he right? Did it feel that way because he wasn’t the right person for me? Or was he wrong? It seemed unfathomable to me to ever be in a relationship where I’d just drop whatever I’d be doing to make time for someone else without thinking of it as a bother or a sacrifice – even if it were for the love of my life.
Maybe that was the issue after all: how much I valued time. Or maybe it was the fact that I was still relatively inexperienced when it came to relationships. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because I had gotten so good at being on my own that sharing my life with others was next to impossible.
I was sure about one thing though. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him. I think the real issue is that I had grown to love myself way too much to ever love somebody else, to ever let somebody in. That realisation was a bit of a shocker to me.
First of all, it made me think about how much I had changed. My old self may have seemed fine on the outside, but on the inside? Dark and dreary, self-loathing to some extent, indifferent. I would’ve never imagined myself saying such a thing before, but hey, if Demi Lovato can say it, why can’t I? I love me. Second, what would that mean for my love life? Would I not be able to experience real love until such a time came that someone would feel like they’re worth my time? As pretentious and narcissistic as it sounds, that was the crux of it all: to find someone with whom you don’t feel like you’re settling.
But that’s the thing – how do you know you’re not settling? How do you know whether someone will be worth your time if you don’t give them a chance first? Isn’t that kinda the whole point of dating? Back in my teen days, I thought I could fall in love at first sight and find ‘the one’. Then I realised how crappy that’d be. Imagine if my ‘the one’ happened to live in Australia – what then? Am I expected to leave my entire life behind, cross the entire world, and gaze into the eyes of every unsuspecting inhabitant of Australia in hopes that they fall in love with me the second they look into mine?
With time, I discovered that relationships are investments. You start off solely based on attraction or maybe a gut feeling or an emotional connection, but at the end of the day you don’t know if it’s gonna pan out or not. It might be a flop, or they might turn into ‘the one’. Meaning there could be multiple ‘the ones’ throughout your life. Isn’t that much nicer, and most of all, convenient?
And so, I think I may yet find someone who could potentially end up being ‘the one’. Someone for whom, somehow, against all odds, making time won’t feel like a sacrifice. Or it will be someone who won’t need that from me. It will be someone who’s equally busy doing their own stuff, someone who isn’t there waiting around for me all the time, someone who respects my need for space. And I’d be totally fine if that person doesn’t exist either way. Que sera, sera…
Revelling in my new relationship status, I found myself with some free time in my hands for the first time in months. Precious, precious time. A narcissist’s gold mine. Every single minute of my day could now revolve around me without the slightest pang of guilt.
We were still on lockdown, so it wasn’t like I was missing out on anything either way. I’d study and learn more about medicine and perfect my examination techniques and so on. I’d work out and train, I’d read and write, I’d watch TV and I’d play videogames – and when those too got a bit stale, I’d revise some French and Spanish on Duolingo (polyglot goals), and I was also learning how to play the kalimba (cause the ocarina wasn’t exotic enough). By then, every single minute of every single day was already accounted for. I was as efficient as a personality-devoid C-3PO – which is saying something.
It’s true. I might have become a self-obsessed, egomaniacal monster, but hey, it was the only thing keeping me from going insane. The Tsimtsum had sunk and left me stranded on this boring, old piece of junk alone with my very own version of Richard Parker: my own inner monster – self-destruction. It would usually be at this point that I’d forego all the progress I had made so far. I’d start smoking again, stop exercising, stop reading, stop writing. I’d do the bare minimum when it came to studying, and I’d spend my days sleeping or watching TV.
It was either this or to focus on myself. And for the first time in my life, I chose myself – and it was working. I managed to stay grounded. I could see myself improving and getting better day in, day out.
It was also around this time that I started to notice that I was appreciating life in general. Whereas before I didn’t give much importance to health and safety, it all started to change. I’ve always been reckless, but the more I worked to make myself better, the more I noticed I started clinging on to life itself. I vividly remember going on this hike and being actually paralysed by fear of climbing a high ledge. Before, I would’ve gone for it without a second thought. That was me signing up for the Ciudad Perdida trek without any preparation. That was me speeding like a maniac on the road. That was me diving headfirst into a rip tide current.
I had nothing to lose, nothing to gain – except for a short-lived adrenaline rush and a story to tell. But during this period of my life? I started to take things seriously. Why? Because suddenly I cared about my life. I couldn’t possibly let all that hard work go to waste. To end this with another quote from one of the greats:
“It’s good to be scared. It means you still have something to lose.”
Richard Weber, Grey’s Anatomy
And so, somehow, against all odds, I managed to keep at it. It took discipline and perseverance, but I stuck to it – and finally, I was in a position where I could say I loved myself.