This one is going to be hard to write.
I hate giving up on things.
I’ve done it so many times. My life feels like an unfinished story of incomplete tales.
I know there’s a point where things must end and other things begin. I know that’s not giving up. But so many things have ended in commas, I know they’re not complete.
So many friendship’s casually sunk. Jobs that simply paid out. Relationships that hit rocks and drifted apart. Dreams that fell and shattered.
Every time, I’ve simply given up.
There is nothing I can point to and say “There! There is something I completed” Or “There! There is something I gave my all to.”
All I can do is point and say “I did that and that and that and that.”
I looked around for a new job today. It turns out, I have a range of incompatible skills and limited experience in each. There is no one thing I can do.
I hate it. Because I don’t want to give up. Because I fucking love this Salesman role. I love the stupidly long and busy days. I love the negotiations with clients. I love the stories and the people and I love the being me. But I have few sales. And so I have no money.
It is horrible loving something you’re terrible at.
It;s worse loving someone who no longer loves you.
Just Boom. Out of the blue between the eyes the delayed answer “No, I don’t anymore.”
Perhaps not so out of the blue.
Perhaps a little expected.
Perhaps a little needed.
It wasn’t exactly a pretty fight. But god above I’m such a pushover. I can’t stand to see Someone cry. So I can’t hurt. Not deliberately. Not in retaliation. The words bile up my throat and choke upon my heart. Stupid thing.
A fight ends in singleness. And then we sit inside the things that defined us most: our cars. Mine before hers. And we sat and we thought and I couldn’t fucking take it so I sat down on the floor and I said I don’t give up on you anymore.
Because I can make her love me again. I know all the little things to make her think she loves me. Those are easy, but those aren’t what I mean.
No, to make her love me – love me like she used to – there’s no sweet gifts or little surprises. No. Those are me loving her. Or should have been.
No, for her to love me is more than that.
I have to love myself.
Because if I can’t love me, if I can’t look at me and say I’m worth all these things, then why should anybody else?
They shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.
Yes, I’ll fall and I’ll crash and life will be a terrible mess but that’s ok because I can get up again. Because that’s what loving is.
Loving is not lying on the floor and crying, beating fists uselessly against the soft carpet. Me loving me is taking the shit of today and saying I’m still good enough. It’s learning from yesterday without being yesterday.
It’s not giving up because things are tough. It’s getting back down and saying “What can I do better?” or “I did that to the best of my ability.” It’s standing up straight and saying I’m weak and I fail and that’s completely ok. It’s being able to look at things and ask myself honestly whether it’s working or not, and if it’s not, to go walk away from it.
Because that’s not giving up. That’s moving up. And that’s all there is to it.