Sometimes I think God forgot to make me a soul mate.

Which would’ve been fine had he granted me indifference and a preference for solitude. Instead, he sent me to Earth infused with a desire for love so great sometimes I’d settle for even the tiniest hint of it.

Anxious attachment, a term used to diagnose the hopeless and relentless romantic. We are lost in searching for the idea of love but utterly unaware of what it’s actually supposed to feel or look like. At least, I had no clue.

I didn’t understand love that came freely. A love I hadn’t fought for. A love that wasn’t love at all. Just moments filled with so much intensity it would jolt my body awake and cause my heart to skip a beat.

Frantic kisses. Hands urgently tearing away at clothes. The anxiety of the morning after. The relief from the text the next day. And always living in fear that it could all go away.

All those moments remain suspended in the air. They don’t get to grow old. The passion never ends. They leave me at the high, so I’ll always want more when it all comes crashing down.

Intensity. That’s the feeling I sought. Not love.

The people I chose would all do the same thing. They’d paint me with lies of a future they didn’t intend to deliver, and I’d let the thoughts dance around in my head as though they were real. The trips we’d never take. The surfing lessons they’d never teach me. The songs we’d never sing in the car together. The meals we’d never share.

Then when I would wake the next day and they’d be long gone pursuing someone else, their words would turn to dust and I’d have to bury them so I can move on. But first, I’d mourn the lost potential. Cradle it in my sleep and cry until all the pain leaked out. I’d torture myself with thoughts of if I had just done this or that, or if I had been less or more, things could’ve worked out.

I’d spend sleepless hours pondering the “why,” knowing perfectly well it didn’t matter. I knew they were gone either way. But there had to be a connecting factor between why he left and the one after him left—why they all left. I’d dissect it all like a corpse in a morgue looking for the cause of death. When I couldn’t find it and it all seemed to lead back to me, I’d point the finger at God and ask him why he forgot to make someone just for me.

Avoidant attachment is a term used for those who run or shut down when things get too real. When I wasn’t the one yearning for more, I was the one void of feelings.

I was always unknowingly chasing love for the validation that I was in fact capable of being loved. However, if it came too easily and without the familiar struggle that I knew, I’d push it away. And if it did not budge, I’d only test it more. Anyone who thought they could or did love me would see all the ugly pieces inside me reserved for those crazy enough to want me.

I was full of rage and sadness. My inner child was screaming out for attention. All the pieces of me that I neglected and pushed down would surface as soon as I found a safe space to unravel. I’d pick fights on purpose. Cry in fits of hysteria. Ignore my partner’s feelings. Refuse to give even an inch, but I’d take a mile. How could they possibly love me?

After all my tireless charades, they would eventually leave as anyone with a shred of self-respect should. And when they did, it would only reinforce what I thought to be true: See, you didn’t love me.

I believed love should be earned. I didn’t understand that what I was searching for and craved wasn’t love at all.

It would take me years to understand, but the lessons would come, and I would learn. Instead of chasing chaos, I’d kiss it on the lips and let it go. I won’t look to the heavens and ask where did love go. I understand now that love starts from within me and I’m the only one that can make it grow.

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