As long as I can remember, I’ve consumed media about romance. I watched Disney movies as a child where the girls only mattered if someone was in love with them, saving them, or both. Some of my favorite movies to this day are romcoms, like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and Emma (2020). Most of the content of my bookshelves are romance books. Or, similarly, romantic fantasy books. Anything I’ve ever attempted to write contained a romantic plot line. Evidently, there’s a theme here.

I could blame the societal rules forced upon young girls that they’re nobody until somebody loves them. Don’t get me wrong, that’s definitely part of it. However, I’ve recently realized my love for romance only seems to extend to the fictional kind.

I’m someone who feels every emotion so deeply that it hurts. No matter the nature, my rib cage cracks open and my chest fills with the feeling like the tide coming in. Tiny sparks of emotion ignite at my nerve endings until every inch of my skin feels as though it’s aflame. This deep feeling and ability for empathy is a superpower, but some days, it feels like it’ll be my downfall.

I could give you a song that reminds me of every situationship I’ve ever been in. I could also detail you the grueling months I spent being manipulated like a puppet by the only person I actually “dated” officially. Likewise, I could also vomit at the pure nauseating nonsense that is this dating culture.

I’m pretty sure I’ve only been in love, real love, once. She doesn’t live anywhere near me, and we never actually were in a relationship. She felt like summer, even through the winter months. Sunshine personified, that girl. We still speak, and I’m pretty sure no one on the face of this earth could even compare to her in my mind. Surely, that’s healthy. We don’t need to unpack all that right now.

There have been people I thought I could love, and I think those are the ones that crack me in half. If the timing was different, or we were different, it could’ve been beautiful. I’ve clung onto what ifs since I was young. What if we didn’t move states, what if I was blonde and skinny, what if we truly fell in love and were married with kids by now? I once had a nightmare about the boy I spent my time with in high school, where we were expecting our first kid. I woke up sweating, feeling trapped in a world that wasn’t even close to real.

And in the real world? The clammy hands and anxiety don’t dissipate. Every time I see a high school or college classmate post photos of their weddings or their sonograms, I still get dizzy. I used to feel so behind. I didn’t have a partner or even the prospect of one. That had to have been the missing thing in my life! Love! Love could fix everything, right? Wrong. I love to have a crush until it makes me feel like I need a lobotomy. However, I do not love having to take care of two entire people because somehow I always used to end up involved with people who didn’t know how to care for themselves. I knew it wasn’t fair, and I endured it anyway. Not anymore.

Love should not feel like carrying the sun while the other watches as you burn. I cannot love you hard enough that you love yourself, although, I used to try. When I was a teenager, and even into my early twenties, I used to think it was my job to pick up others’ broken pieces and glue them back together. I was the vessel for their healing, while they tore me apart in the process. Then, when everything stilled, and we were done, I began the process of me healing from them. This was especially true of my “relationship.” I lost friends because of this person. I don’t think I ever liked who I was with them, which was a difficult pill to swallow. I’ll never forget when they told me I wasn’t a good enough girlfriend. In reality, I was holding both of us up with any strength I had. After we broke up, I hated every bit of returning to the people who actually loved me, begging them to help me come back to myself. And they gave me their hands anyway because that’s what people who really love you do.

After this relationship, I swore I wouldn’t do anything like that ever again. I don’t think I could survive it. It skewed everything I knew about love. Through all of these relationships, all I’ve gotten was heartbreak and the feeling that romantic love is unsteady. There’s a reason I don’t like boats.

I don’t want to be a factory for healing people who go on to find the loves of their life. Furthermore, though, I enjoy my company and the company of my friends enough that if I never got into another relationship, I know I could be satisfied.

I’m not declaring my heart permanently closed, but at least for the foreseeable future. I have so much love in my life that I feel fulfilled, which is what I wanted all along, anyway.