”I was nearly pathologically afraid of abandonment and so I’d repeatedly picked people who were absolutely incapable of giving me what I needed, to ensure I was never really at risk of substantial loss.”
This quote felt like it was written with a mirror in its hand, staring right back at me. I read it twice. Maybe three times, I think more. Because somewhere in those words, I found myself.
I’ve had my fair share of friendships. Always the kind that starts with laughter and a glint of forever. And then, slowly, they fade. I used to think people just grew apart, that maybe we all just moved on at some point. But when I really sat with it, I realized I’ve always seen it coming. I always sense when things begin to shift. It starts with the tone in the messages, the pauses in conversations, the effort that stops coming. And instead of fighting for it or asking questions, I retreat.
I go quiet, match the energy and I wait for them to go ghost. When they finally do, I tell myself it’s fine because there’s this thing in my head that tells me I’m meant to be alone anyway.
I can beat my chest anywhere, any day to say that I don’t fumble friendships. I don’t start fights but I disappear. I shrink when things feel uncertain. I’d rather hurt in silence than face rejection head-on. I convince myself that maybe it’s better this way, that letting go before I’m pushed away is a form of strength. But deep down, I know it’s fear disguised as peace.
That quote made me realize that maybe, without knowing it, I’ve always chosen emotional distance. Maybe I’ve always connected with people who wouldn’t stay because it felt safer that way. Because if someone is incapable of meeting me fully, I don’t have to face the pain of them leaving, they were never really there to begin with.
Still, it hurts. Every time!
No matter how much I tell myself I’m fine, the truth is, I still ache for the people who used to know me. I still wish to have a hold of those deleted old messages, wondering if they think of me too. I still miss what it felt like to belong somewhere, to someone, a friend.
But I guess this is where growth begins, in admitting that my loneliness isn’t fate, it’s fear. That I’ve built a home inside my solitude because I didn’t trust that anyone else would make space for me.
Maybe I’m not meant to be alone. Maybe I just got too comfortable believing I should be and I wish that one day, I’ll stop disappearing.