Where Is the Love?

I feel as if my life is lacking in love—love in a general sense, which I suppose means love in every sense. Familial love, platonic love, romantic love, random love, sexual love (lust), even unrequited love. All are in short supply with depleted reserves. The most intriguing and, consequently, the most troubling of the empty tanks is the unrequited one because this means that I don’t even have love to give which could then fail to be returned to me.

I treat this predicament as if it is separate from my depression, preceding it and now (of course) feeding it, but a parallel and separate trail not even connected to me. It’s like some beast or monster is walking on either side of me, scaring away and devouring all the love I might otherwise receive (or send) were I walking this road alone. I may be naïve in that belief and I wouldn’t judge anybody for disagreeing. I’d like to disagree myself and to simply blame my current emotional state for blocking my blessings of love. Perhaps the beast is Depression, but that would mean he’s been with me much longer than I care to admit… long enough to have met my daughter and attack her love. That thought is infuriating… so let us Woo-Sa and move on so as to avoid another angry rant.

I can see now that I had been running on stored reserves of love for quite some time (years, perhaps?) with no reliable source to refill them. I tried to fill them with hope but what is hope fueled by if not love? No luck there. I tried to fill them with belief but my confidence has taken such a beating this past decade—I’m not the cocky, young negro that thinks he can conquer the world that I once was. The religious types would say I should put my belief in God, not in myself. I tried that, more than once, and I recognize that it works for a lot of people but not me. I’m a spiritual person, not a zealot, and this I shall remain until a burning bush speaks to me directly. It’s time for God to put his faith in me. Sorry, not sorry.

Occasionally, I will reach out to some humans with my frail heart, possessing uncertain expectations and a faith that is tenuous at best. If I am received, which is not always the case, their kind words or attentive ears do little to restore my hope and serve only to carry me through the most current desperate moment. For I know once the moment passes, I will feel alone once more. I choose the word “feel” instead of “be” because (cognitively) I know that people care about me—possibly/probably even love me (in their own way), but this knowledge stays trapped in my mind, jealously hoarded from my heart.

In one of the meditations that I do every morning, I am reminded that everyone is doing the best they can within the framework and capabilities of their own mind. I am encouraged to relinquish grievances, regrets and resentment and choose forgiveness—both of self and others. Even my therapist reminded me that it’s dangerous to hold others to my expectations of love. But how does one receive, accept and, more importantly, recognize love without a blueprint? Especially when you can’t feel it in your heart because some fucking monster is gorging on your happiness. Bitch ass beast. Don’t let me catch you in my lane. I’m gonna put hands on you.

Wouldn’t that be great? If we could manifest our mental and emotional issues into physical form and then beat the shit out of them! Oh, what a world that would be… maybe I’ll write a story about it.