Love Is Such An Effort These Days

I miss being in love. The feeling that saves you in the morning, one minute after you awaken into a mundane day. That stomach-clenching, gut-wrenching, breath-stopping, cliche-spewing sensation that surprises you often. That nervous, embarrassing cloud that surrounds you and feels strangely good. I miss it.

No. Missing being in love is just loneliness, the lonely of not having a dream to inspire and carry you over life’s utter mundanity. It isn’t quite that, even if I am lonely.

I miss how easy it used to be to fall in love. I miss its effortlessness. I miss not even knowing that it could be an effort.

I feel my age now. In my body, some, yes. But mostly in this tiredness. I worry more about being hurt. Whether my sentiments are reciprocated or not matter more to me now than they ever did. And even if I now know I will survive heartache and pain, I just don’t feel I have the patience for it anymore.

What do you do when you tire of the effort of living, when you don’t know if you have the will any more for the very thing that makes life, worth living? You start to get old, to decay.

Last month, I injured my foot and sustained a fracture. I pushed myself, my independent self, into diagnosis, medication and healing. Then I strapped on an ugly bandage, unwieldy boots and a grim look to face my days’ schedule. I’ve been alone for the past few weeks.

Exactly one friend checked in on me. The others were busy, caught up in their own lives and my family was out of the country. I asked myself if I was being heroic. Indeed I have that flashy, drama queen streak to me. But this wasn’t it. There is no glory in surviving a lone existence.

I wanted to see what the rest of my life was going to look like. Here’s what I found. A steady, peaceable existence, devoid of drama or much fluctuations. I barely noticed when day turned to night and vice versa. I didn’t hurt, didn’t worry, didn’t frown, didn’t nothing.

The house is full again and I have complete mobility now. Nothing stops me from going out and meeting people now. And in two days I’ve experienced hurt, awkwardness, discomfort, worry, irritation, anger and bitterness. I don’t like my city, don’t feel at home here. My social circle makes me restless, not invigorated. And living feels like such an effort all over again. I think I’m better off cocooned in complete solitude than a world devoid of the chance for love.