How much is too much?

As I write this in a fleeting moment of loneliness and self-pity, I rationalize my dark thoughts by telling myself that it is my responsiblity as an artist, writer, even just as a human-being to share my feelings in the case that it can help comfort someone who feels the same way I do.

I know that I am desirable, that I deserve to be loved, and that this too shall pass.  Yet, a conversation I had with a colleague a few years back about cynicism in regards to relationships keeps creeping back into my mind.  She mentioned to me that a friend of hers who was in her mid-forties had just met a man and that they had been hitting it off.  Although she liked this man, she had her reservations about taking it any further because of her past experiences.  It was the fear of them both beginning to like one another, to start a relationship, then begin to resent one another, only for one of them to end up hurting the other.

I told her that my thought was that it only got easier as one got older and she convinced me that it was quite the contrary.  One only becomes more cynical with age, especially in romance.

My refusal to believe this could be chalked up to my romantic personality or in reality it could be that I was just delusional about how romance works in the real world.

As I moped around I recounted all the events of my most recent attempt at a romantic relationship and what could have been the moment that my counterpart decided not to continue.  Although I know that 99 percent of the time it is not oneself to blame, I felt as though it could have been the baggage of my past.

Despite being in recovery and having been able to tell some of my peers the “destruction” from my past, and then being told that I finally belong with others who have been through the same.  It doesn’t seem to change the fact that sometimes baggage is just baggage, regardless of who you surround yourself by.  The details of my past are not important, although I’m curious as to when baggage becomes too much baggage.  When should one just say, “Well, I’ve created so much destruction that I’m just going have to get used to treking through life on my own.”?

Of course I’ll have friends and family to support me but should I reach a point of acceptance that I’ll just have to live life as a single man?

I already have children. I’m educated and soon to move further up in the academic ladder.  I’m living a life of balance, spirituality, and sobriety.  I’m relatively happy as well.

I would just like to be able to believe that I’m done with romance and that I can just live life without the worry of meeting someone who will absolutely crush my soul in the most beautifully horrifying way possible.

To live life knowing that I will never feel romantic heartache again.

All those who are in relationships say, it will happen when you least expect it. Or, when you finally stop looking the love of your life shows up.  I feel like those sayings are some serious bullshit.

Maybe I’m missing the point but maybe I’m actually ready to be done.  Maybe I don’t want to give up because I’m affraid when I get settled in my being single and happy that I’m going to meet that one person who will destroy me.

Life will go on and I may or may not meet someone to walk beside me on this journey of life and  I’m ok with that.  It just feels like people are all too willing to try at a romance but not capable of breaking things off in an emotionally considerate manner.

The sweet isn’t as sweet without the bitter but shit man.

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