THE REAL LIVEJOURNAL IDOL -- SEASON 10, WEEK 15
FOOL FOR LOVE
Call me 'Pierrot', because whether I like it or not I was born to play that role. Admittedly, I almost never wear white, but in all other respects I fit the character to a 'T', as I am the very definition of a naïve, love-sick romantic fool... and it seems I am fated to have all my love remain unrequited.
I was very young when I learned the hard way that 'love' truly was a four-letter word. Like all good boys, I loved my mother... but she was incapable of loving me back. It was only long after the woman was dead and gone that I understood she did not love any of her children... which in retrospect was not surprising, as both of her parents were utterly devoid of love and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. But I did not understand that in my tender youth... nor did I recognize at the time that my mother was utterly equanimous when it came to witholding affection toward her progeny. She was indifferent to all of my siblings at best... and an unrelenting, hypercritical perfectionist at worst. But like all children, I wanted to love and be loved in return, and could not understand why my mother was incapable of loving me. Although I understand now that the 'fault' was hers, in my youth I concluded that there must be something wrong with me... and as much as I may try to deny it, that belief lingers within me to this very day.
Mind you, my sense of worthlessness is not entirely my mother's fault: I had great difficulty making any real friends in my childhood, and was a favored target of both the neighborhood bullies as well as the schoolyard tricksters. This was partially due to my entire family being viewed as "outsiders" by my neighbors, as we were not a member of the dominant ethnic group on our street... but my timid and trusting nature also made me vulnerable -- I was so desperate to be accepted by my fellows that I would swallow any lie whole even if it completely defied all rationality. So I regularly became the victim of the meanest of jokes and pranks, ranging from being locked alone in a shed for several hours to nearly being killed in the name of 'fun'. (The latter statement is no exaggeration; I still bear the physical and emotional scars from the incident in question.) And all of these "pranks" were inflicted upon me by boys that I honestly considered my friends. It was not until High School that I finally found companions who did not emotionally abuse me in some fashion, merely to take pleasure in the act.
But it wasn't just the boys in my neighborhood who treated me cruelly; as I entered puberty, several girls I knew took great delight in mocking me in public, apparently for no other reason than to watch me squirm in discomfort, knowing that I would never respond in kind, much less lay a hand on them. And before you try to explain this behavior by claiming that some girls will act rude and agressively toward boys that they like in order to attract the young man's attention, you should know that one of the more pleasant things these girls called me was "four-eyed shit head". I simply don't see how a phrase like that could be interpreted as a term of endearment...
After several years of such treatment, is it any surprise that I came to believe that I was not merely unloved but unloveable? That I was going to be alone for the rest of my life? I told myself repeatedly that I was better off by myself; that eternal solitude was far less painful than allowing anyone to get close enough to hurt me ever again. And I might have very well continued to believe that... until I discovered what I was missing.
I had just entered High School when I was introduced to my 'Columbina'. We began as pen pals, but from the very start she was a ray of sunshine in my otherwise dark existence. She was smart, bubbly, witty, clever... and quite pretty to my eyes, although in all the time I knew her she kept insisting that final point couldn't possibly be true. As for me: while I was known for having a clownish sense of humor in public, it was all a disguise to hide my inner pain. Until I met her, I always felt like I was broken inside, beyond mending. But when I read her first letter I felt something stir within me; her oddball, quirky way of viewing the world matched my own in many respects. For the first time in years, I felt like I had found someone that I could truly be friends with.
And then I met Columbina in person. Prior to that moment, I knew that something was missing from my life, but I'd have been hard-pressed to put what was lacking into words. How do you describe something that you've never seen or experienced? But I had heard several different definitions for love... and all of them applied to me from the moment I laid eyes on Columbina. Making her happy made me happy, so I went to great lengths just to see her smile. We would finish each other's sentences, and laugh with one another each time it happened. But perhaps most telling of all: I only felt whole and complete when I was in her presence.
For the first time ever, I no longer felt all alone in the world... and it was wonderful.
And then the day came when I found that Columbina did not feel the same way about me. Oh, she considered me a great friend, perhaps even her best friend... but she did not love me 'in that way'. We had great fun together, true... but she simply could not see herself building a life with me.
I never pressed the issue; after all the years of unsuccessfully trying to make my mother love me back, I understood that there was no way to force someone to love you. For several years I harbored a forlorn hope that someday Columbina might change her mind about me... but she eventually met the 'love of her life' while she was at university. I went to their wedding, danced at the reception, shook the guy's hand and called him the luckiest man I knew... all while wearing a smile to hide how torn up I felt inside.
They're still happily married by all accounts. Three kids, so I've heard.
I have never felt that way about anyone since. Not even close. The one "relationship" which occurred after I parted from Columbina was entirely instigated by the woman in question... and this other lady had to metaphorically hit me on the head with a sledgehammer in order to get my attention. I was reluctant to get involved with this new woman for a variety of reasons, but a major part of it was that this second lady did not make me feel the same way that Columbina did. In retrospect, I don't blame this second lady for eventually dumping me, even though I took it hard at the time... but on some level I think she sensed that deep down I viewed her as a poor substitute for the one I truly wanted.
I've made a few fumble-handed attempts at dating, but they were all unmitigated disasters. I'm sure a lot of that was because I have all the social grace of a water buffalo, due to my lack of experience. But it didn't help that none of the ladies ever made me feel even vaguely as happy and complete as Columbina did. Perhaps that was unfair of me... but the heart wants what it wants.
Some years ago I formally gave up on dating; after several particularly bad experiences I decided that it wasn't worth the effort... and as I get older and my health slowly worsens, I found myself incapable of believing that any woman in her right mind would have any interest in being with me. And so, once again, I relagated myself to being alone for the rest of my life. It was the only conclusion I could draw whenever I looked in my mirror.
At yet... in recent months, I have found myself occasionally considering putting myself out into the dating scene once more. I don't think so much about what I would want in a companion, but rather in terms of how I would treat my companion and help her get to know me... and by doing so demonstrate to her that despite all the pain and anguish I have experienced in my forlorn pursuit of love, at heart I am still a hopeless romantic. That when all is said and done, all I truly want is to love and be loved in return. It is the only aspect of me that I think a woman might find attractive.
Yes, I know that I'm a fool, and every rational part of me screams that I'll only find disappointment and pain if I go looking for love again... but I can't stop myself. That's just who I am.
NOTE: ellakite chose "Peter" as his Confirmation name... and since his Christian name means "the little one", those two names together are the equivalent of "Pierrot". In retrospect, this explains a lot about ellakite...