tarting oneself up

accepting love.

this is what i fear. it's interesting to question why i might fear this, but i get bored of questioning, or even positing various theories. the fear sticks around anyway. i can logic away some fear, but not the fear of accepting love.

still, i am tempted to draw correlations between my own desire (and failure) to help others by loving them (i've picked really sad cases, people who don't love themselves, emotional black holes, if you will) and my fear to be on the receiving end of such an attempt. what if i am a failure at being loved, and the other person ends up feeling like i did?

but then i look, honestly look, at my own case (not scrutinize it for pimples with that terrible mirror that gigantisizes one's pores). i'm not a lost cause. i can touch the ground occasionally. and the people who love me, to how many of them am i a case, a cause, a damaged specimen? i am probably that to one person i know, but i notice that person misses half of what's going on anyway, poor thing. i am pretty sure most people just love me because they want to.

in which case, the saving part is back to me. ugh. i would really like to be done with saving. for a while, it seemed necessary, but now the only villain left in my life is me. have i really reached the tawdry point of needing to be saved from myself (by myself - cue heavy eye-rolling)?

i remember deciding one day that instead of saving myself from, i would save myself to. to what? who cares! to the gigantic program in the sky, to a better day, to make a cake with.

to love. saving myself to love. that has more of a preserving air to it. preserves and pastries, mmm. hopefully that becomes the dominant paradigm in my mind. maybe i'll change the blog name to "pastry-in-self".

with pastry, comes better relationship. who knew?