How hard can it be to love a freak?

I certainly did not choose to be a freak. Most people don’t even realize they’re freak until it’s way too late to change it, I heard one say, and that’s quite what happened to me. I was raised with my three bothers at a large house at the suburbs, our age difference is short and I have dozens cousins that lived closed to me and spent most time at our house because we used to have the most cool toys, a color TV and an Atari by then. So I had everything to grow up normal, a regular person, people always surrounded me, even when all that I wanted was to be by myself. So, from were it comes my social phobia? Why did I spend so much time and energy pushing the ones I love away from me?

As in my childhood, the following years brought me loads of people to make my life more complete and somehow regular. I used to hang out with friends from different social circles, as college, neighbors, former high school roommates, but deep inside of me I felt I’d be better at home under a blanket eating junkie food and watching some TV. I found out the hardest way it’s tough you to convince your friends you love them when you avoid them the most of time. Guess my shyness, my low self-esteem played a major rule then. In my family we did not used to have a lot of friends not-blood-related. And I have to admit my relatives were not very attractive, they had so different goals them me, I was the first one ever in my family to join an university, the first one to learn a foreign language, to read real books, to have interest on arts and travel. I was a freak for them and a freak outside my house, because I did not know how to cope with that,

My love life has been a mess the last years and it’s almost all my fault. When I found someone I loved I didn’t have the ability to control my jealousy, my needy personality. I pushed him so hard and on the other hand I had so few to offer in return. As it should, the relationship collapsed. With it, I went back to my cocoon, allowing just a few to come closer and watch my new metamorphosis. By this time I realized it’s not worth to waste life drawing lines trying to make it harder to people get close to me. I met a lot of new people; some I now call friend, some just passed through my life but left something that somehow helped me to grow.

Last months I’ve been complaining a lot, using lines to describe my feelings and believes that at some point could have been misunderstood by some and even by the one who writes it now. There is a reason I kept saying I could be happy alone. It wasn’t because I thought I would be REALLY happy alone. It was most because I thought if I loved someone again and then it fell apart, I might not make it. It sounds easier to be alone. Because I had once learned I needed love, and then I didn’t have it. I could not imagine myself liking the need of love, leaning on it. What if I shape my life around it once more and then it falls apart as it just happened? Losing love is like dying. The only difference is, death ends and this feeling could go on forever. That’s what I used to believe on. I had just lost someone I believed I loved (and now I know I still DO) and I did not wanted to go through all that again.

Silly me. Love just comes and when it does you should not dare to try to push it away, it gets stuck and it’s great. Now I just want to lay here and enjoy it and say out loud: I LOVE YOU, at the top of my voice, as I must do it while the one I love still can hear me. I’m still a freak, but freaks love and in proper conditions can even be nice people.


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