Why I do not tell people I love them.

It is not because I don’t. It is because for me, saying “I love you” is living suicide.

(Be prepared for some rambling.)

And it’s not like I never say it. I tell it to my grandparents and (now ex) girlfriend. People I’m certain will, in return, love me forever. Irrevocably, and equal to my love for them. The ‘safe people,’ whom I will never doubt. But there is only like six of those. The rest, no matter how much I love them – you won’t catch me saying it back.

I’ve never been good with loss. Loss is change, and change is my worst enemy. And if they leave, and you’ve never told them you loved them, they can’t take that with them. Damaged girls logic.

There is those people whom say it to you, and it makes your heart so happy – you want to say it back, you really do. You want to yell to their faces “I love you to the moon and fucking back, you lovely human.” But you don’t, because what if they don’t love you as much as you love them? What if they don’t love you in the same way? What if you are so damn vulnerable and they think it’s too much? So they are thinking “Girl, chill. Why are you so into me?” Or the worst, what if they just said it to say it?

I know you must be thinking “Is this girl serious?” Yes, I’m serious. Be gentle with this heart of mine. I might not say it, but I love so deeply. Perhaps in a way you’ve never been loved. Always unconditionally, and with so much promise. I’d probably go to the ends of the earth for you. And if I love you enough, I’ll be devoted as hell; which makes it a little intense. So I’m a little insecure about it.

You wouldn’t think, with that, I was as I am. Coming off as cold and perhaps indifferent. I’ve actually been called “Medusa” more than anything other ‘name.’ My friends nickname for me. And the other day at work a new girl called me “The big bad wolf.” Fitting, I guess, with this attitude of mine. (The attitude isn’t an act, it’s real by the way. I can be something fierce.)

Sometimes I don’t even want to be loved. Like what if I actually believe you? Because usually, I probably won’t. Maybe that’s why loving me is so hard. Because you might genuinely love me, but I’m just going to assume you’re a liar. Love me? HA! Fool me once, right?

And really, this post truly is just me rambling, but I had to get it out there. That my heart is not made of stone. I’m just terrified of love.

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