I’ve always been the kind of person who loves way too hard and far too quickly.
This is something that I learned about myself fairly early on.
My mother likes to tell a story about the time I kept a miniature watermelon wrapped up in a baby cradle in the corner of my bedroom. I quickly grew to love the adorable watermelon, so much so that I could not be parted from it and treated it like my very own baby. I even took it to school at one point. Obviously, as is typical in the life cycle of a watermelon, after a couple of weeks it began to rot, and I, dearly in love with said watermelon, was absolutely devastated.
This was just the beginning of a series of miniature watermelons, baby cantaloupes and pie pumpkins that I “adopted” over the years. Clearly, I wasn’t entirely picky about the kind of produce I was taking care of.
This may seem rather normal, especially because I was likely in the first grade when all of this was taking place. Yet this isn’t my only childhood story of this sort.
When our stove went kaput, I sobbed as the delivery men wheeled it out the door. When my parents finally bought me a “big girl” bed, I couldn’t be consoled, keeping the bolts that held the legs onto the frame in a special box of remembrance. Last year, my father sold his car — the vehicle I had learned to drive in — to a scrap yard to be scavenged for parts. This was one of the most devastating days of my young adult life.
While lots of young children are known for their personification of inanimate objects, I feel that my love for these items went far beyond the normal childlike make-believe. I truly felt deep care for these things and, invariably, immense guilt when they had to be thrown out or sent away. I suppose that it is because I have always been a little worried that everything in life, even the things we consider to be insentient, actually do have souls, complete with thoughts and feelings.
I’ve never been able to explain this kind of behaviour to another person without feeling rather stupid. How silly and overly emotional am I to worry that my childhood teddy bear is miserable sitting on a shelf rather than sleeping in my arms every night. Even thinking about it makes me want to cry.
But it’s not just watermelons, stoves and teddy bears that I feel this way about. My love for other human beings is even more intense.
Recently, I’ve started to think about this part of myself. While I’ve always given away my reserves of platonic love like candy on Halloween, I’m unsure if doing so is a detriment to my own well-being.
I am always the first person to call someone my friend, rather than an acquaintance or a co-worker. I often share deeply thoughtful notes, and I’m never afraid to buy and gift small things that remind me of another person. I used to think this was a good thing, but I’ve begun to worry that when shared too soon, people think I am coming on too strong.
No version of me is cool and nonchalant.
On top of this, when people don’t remit the same level of love that I am constantly radiating, I start to spiral. It’s easy to convince yourself that a person doesn’t like you when you give everything you have to them and they only return 50 per cent. Although I know that logically, just because I have the capacity to share my love constantly doesn’t mean others can always do the same, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Romantic love is even worse.
Because it doesn’t take much for me to love someone platonically, I’ve always found it very easy for that love to become romantic. As a result of that, I feel I am always the first person to say those three words, even when perhaps it is not appropriate — whatever “appropriate” really means these days.
I guess what I am trying to convey is that lately, I’ve been feeling a little bit like that rotting watermelon in the baby cradle. I’ve been giving love so freely for so long without anyone to return it. To replenish my stores and keep me working in tip-top shape.
While I won’t deny that I have some really wonderful friends, people who support me and share the love they can spare at every turn, I feel embarrassed to say that sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough. Perhaps it is because I have been running on empty for so long that I am in so much love debt that I am unable to truly pay any of it off.
It’s like they say with credit cards, once you get too deep into the hole, all you’re paying is the interest.
If you too are in serious debt to the love bank, maybe it’s time to rethink who you are sharing your beautiful soul with. I know it is hard for people like us to not want to latch on tight upon first signs of compatibility, but maybe it is time to only give your full self to the kind of people you know are going to return the favour. I’m not saying that you should treat everyone else terribly but perhaps consider ways to conserve your energy for the people who will fill up your cup, not drain it endlessly.
This is what I have been trying to convince myself, but it’s not easy. When you’ve been this way your whole life, how can you change? I feel like this outlook on life is ingrained in my genetic makeup.
All I keep telling myself is that it is okay to rest, and to share only what you can. To not overexert yourself and what you have to give.
It doesn’t have to be forever. Just for right now.