If I loved me I’d find friends I loved, who loved me back. Most often I hear empty words and platitudes from people I’ve made connection with. They are more needy than I am, and I am desperately empty. If I could meet those needs I would, because I would accept “love” even if “love” was because I was being used. When I can, and do, meet a need, I feel that my act of love is not returned, and I feel used and more empty inside.
Maybe if I loved me as much as I try to love others, I’d be a little more selfish and demanding, and maybe I’d have real friends instead of people I fear are made of plastic. Sadly, no one is following my example and reciprocating.
If I loved me, I’d have married the one who brought love to the table, instead of empty promises. She can present all the evidence she wants as “proof” of love, but if it’s not spoken in the language I need to hear, is it really love? The language I need to hear might be difficult to speak, but if she loved me wouldn’t she at least try to learn? I’m still trying after all this time. But even if I spoke her love language fluently, if she won’t respond in kind, I feel my soul slowly drained of life. for alll my trying, I only feel taken for granted.
Maybe if I loved me as much as I love her, I’d expect my needs to be fulfilled, and in return, I’d feel energized to insure that hers are met as well. Sadly, she’s just like everyone else, and not reciprocating either.
If I loved me maybe I’d think higher of my self. But often I feel worthless, useless, and pointless, except as a tool to be used by others for their own purposes without receiving personal reward or recompense. If I loved me I might expect to be treated better by those I serve- employer, family, church, “friends.” But I’ve lived a lifetime trusting that things would work out, and the older I get the more I see that things don’t work out, and my labor is unappreciated and undervalued, and things that I need break and I’m unable to replace them. I’ve been told I’m intelligent, but so far– and I’m halfway into this– I’m not smart enough to figure life out. A famous line from Auntie Mame is “Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death.” That’s me. And if she’s right, most everyone else too.
Maybe if I loved me as much as I should love me, I’d be able to figure out how to live it better.
It’s really a sad circumstance. I think I’m a loveable guy. But I haven’t figured out how to love myself correctly. If other people loved me, maybe I could learn to follow their examples.