the morphing question

Three questions have been in my head throughout my life. In my younger years, the question was ‘What is love?’ I remember thinking about it a lot.

That was around seventeen. I knew some kinds like friends’ love, family love, pets’ love. But I knew, too, that there were some others yet to try. And then I had my first love and subsequent breakup - last being three years after the first one. By the end of that relationship I understood that the experience wasn't going that well. I discovered a lot of my parents’ relationship shapes in my own ways of relating to others. I didn't question jealousy, pettiness, selfishness, anger and a lot of other emotions I felt inhabiting my body back then. I just let them be there.
And then I did.

The question morphed then. It was not about the thing itself anymore, it was about me and my capabilities. Can I love someone else?
A couple of kisses later, and now being around twenty-five, it was always in my head. Can I love someone else? A second breakup came up after another two years of relationship. I found myself better at controlling my own. Own my feelings. Own my head. I was in control. As much as to decide when I wouldn’t hold on things. If they didn't sit right with me I would run off in the blink of an eye.
And I did it. Once. Twice. And again. Feeling so built. So complete. Some sort of wisdom was unveiled to me. I could say yes. I could say no. And it was okay. I was sure I was capable of loving well. I hadn't found the right one to fall into yet. But then I did it.

And now the question has shaped again. Because I thought I had built myself. I was now ready to begin. And I sure did. But the response wasn't quite as expected. All of my old shapes have come to surface again. It is the worst to watch myself and see my parents, but the terrifying thing is now I think I understand the reasons behind. And it hurts. We are all human. Their brokenness is my own brokenness. And this is not to blame because I am because of them too. If they felt this way too, then I do. Giving your love to someone and having them looking at the neighbour’s garden the whole time is extremely hurtful.
I have trouble sleeping at night. I feel ashamed about my body, my taste, my intelligence, my house, my life.

I've become a mess. And the worst part is there's no one to blame. If they were this insecure too, I understand it all. There are just a few months to my 30s and these days I can't stop thinking… Can anybody love me?

I wasn't expecting the question morphing again. Not in this extreme mirror of my worst fears.

But it did.