It’s 2 AM, and I find myself wide awake, staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing through my mind. Maybe it’s best to be alone, I think to myself. More and more, I’m convinced that some of us are meant to do life alone.
The way I love is so deep, so intense, that it feels almost impossible for anyone not to take advantage of it. If I’m being honest, I can handle loving someone even when I know they aren’t deserving. But to love someone with all of my heart and then watch them start to play me, use me, or take advantage of me? That’s a fear I carry deep within.
I’m okay with giving without receiving. But to give with the expectation of love in return, only to realize that I overestimated that love? That’s a level of heartbreak I’m not willing to face. So, I’ve made the choice to push everyone away. Maybe I’m just toxic, or maybe it’s the trauma talking—I’m not entirely sure. But I do know this: the pain of not having anyone I trust with my heart is far less than the pain of trusting someone and dreading the possibility of betrayal.
I would rather place my hope in myself than in someone else who might let me down. And again, I come back to this thought: some of us are meant to do life alone. Not in complete isolation, of course, but alone nonetheless.
There’s a strange comfort in this realization, an acceptance that perhaps solitude is my safest space. It’s a place where I can love without the fear of being used, where I can be vulnerable without the risk of being hurt.
Maybe it’s not the path for everyone, but for some of us, being alone is where we find our strength, our peace. And perhaps that’s okay.
