Acceptance

As I’m reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s ‘Committed’, all my problems have become glaringly obvious. All his excuses have melted away to reveal what I have perhaps known all along: He doesn’t really love me for me.

If I had listed down all my flaws and asked him if he still loved me anyway, his answer would be: No, but I feel obligated to take care of you.

And coming to this realisation really breaks me apart. It’s this empty black hole that continually sucks you in, squeezes your heart till the pain becomes unbearable, chokes you till you forget that you need to breathe. And the tears flow…

And yet, he wouldn’t have found anything wrong with his answer. Because he is holding on to his principles anyway. And I am, as he would say it, not mature enough to have a proper adult relationship.

As I am trying to crawl my way out of this pain, I dig through all his seeds of doubt and wonder if I am that undeserving of love, if I had brought this all upon myself.

Love is really not enough, especially if it’s conditional love.