We are not cylons.

 

I'm starting to hope that somehow, some way, I can overcome the monstrosity of my childhood and manage to eek out a healthy, long-term relationship. Most of the time, it feels hopeless. People who don't really know me assume I'm attached, because for all appearances, I look like someone who has a stable person in her life.

I'm not trying to be coupled to meet anyone else's expectations. I don't even know if I could manage a long-term relationship under one roof. I don't know because I've never done it. I don't know, because in my life, it has not yet proven possible. It is a very difficult thing to hold two things in constant balance: the desire to be with another person along with the need to be comfortable in my own skin and content with my own life, as it is, today.

Somehow, I have to hold on to both of these parts of myself, and continue to move forward. I have to choose to be the person whose life I have lived, whose full life I have lived, and still hope for something different to be created in the future. That person has suffered. That person hurts. But that person is only a person, a human being, if all of those things are true. To be human is to feel pain, and not be able to turn it off, or successfully wish it away. To be human is to be imperfect and my imperfection happens to be highlighted in this one particular area.

We are not cylons (tee-hee -- I am currently hooked on Battlestar Galactica).