I have chosen not to be in love. Isn’t that such a wonderful thing?
I used to believe that I was a victim of circumstance and berate myself for failing to be in a relationship. That’s pretty messed up. But I have chosen loneliness over everything this time, and it is a luxury I would never give up.
I will admit, however, that this conviction stems from fear. Or more accurately, an aversion to falling in love with the wrong people. I’m scared of falling for a man who I want nothing to do with, someone I’d rather hate.
I have no patience for teaching a man how to love me, having to prove my worth as equal to his own. What if I fall for a man who denies the validity of human experience? What if I fall for a man who thinks transgender people are no longer human? What if I fall for a man who would love me but deny me access to an abortion, while still refusing to stay and be a father? What if I fall for a man who believes self-love comes secondary to hard work and hard will?
I’m an all-or-nothing kind of woman, so I probably couldn’t stop myself from loving someone who loved me back. So, instead, I err on the side of caution, and choose not to love. I would rather be alone than share my life with half-baked human beings.