there’s a pretty high chance this is a CPTSD thing overlapping with the AroAce thing but if I could just indulge that a moment anyways:
I met a fellow once who I fell into a debate with- whether it was preferable, in an intimate relationship, to be Needed or to be Wanted.
His perspective was that he wanted to be a half of a whole- Needed, in order to make a single unit. To Complete someone, and have them Complete him. He said the ideal place to be in such a relationship would be to feel Needed. Like a Provider, Protector, Supporter, like he had something in himself that others lacked.
I can sort of see the appeal, if I squint and tilt my head a little. Like an optical illusion.
My take was that it would be far better to be Wanted. To be superfluous, but Desired. To fulfill no special purpose except to be Present and Delighted in.
He couldn’t seem to find the appeal in this concept, the same as I couldn’t find the appeal in his, and I find it a little baffling.
I’ve experienced being Needed. People have Needed me for all kinds of things: safety, strength, security, support, reassurance, advice, a spare set of hands. When I was new to being Needed, it made me feel special, like I was Stronger, Better, Chosen. Then it became a task to Stay Needed, because if my own needs ever outweighed my usefulness, I was no longer desirable to have around.
Being loved, in my experience, has almost always been in some way tied to Need more than Desire, and as such I find myself honestly a bit lost and scared of loving or being loved- because the only way I know how to Love is to Give, and Give, and Give, and when I Give too much to the wrong person then they’ll just leave when there’s nothing else to Take. Or when they Want something I don’t know how to provide.
I don’t know if I will ever feel romantic love, and I think I’m scared of it, because it feels as though the love I’ve known the most has been the kind that’s more like ownership. Like putting a leash around your neck and letting someone take it. And I’m not sure if I’m capable of anything else.
I don’t mind being the way I am- I don’t need anyone to change me, and the thing I am isn’t a raw and open wound that needs healed so much as a tree that’s grown around a fence.
There’s no correcting that, no way of separating the natural from the foreign, not without carving pieces out and destroying what’s alive and thriving- and it’s a healthy tree, despite the shape of it, capable of flowering and putting down roots.
I’m fascinated by the idea of love, I think. A bit like how a sailor might be fascinated by stories of men going mad and tossing themselves to the sea.
It could happen to me, is the thought that grips him. I hope it doesn’t.
tangentwithtanner
