Sirens are Laughing Underneath Your Skull

I loved love – the idea of love, in that unwavering form which could only be received from others, from my other, wherever he may be. But never love from me. No, what would be the point of that?

My one true love could provide an escape from an existing life I longed to leave behind, it would grant me the gift of ultimate adventure. And if it took too long to find me, then I would need to find an escape, to embark on a thrilling journey to find it.  

His love would give my life meaning, it would make me feel secure in a dark and bitter world I felt I was not meant for. I would pay whatever price he named to earn it, even if it meant a sharp knife to my throat or cruel words with harsh tones dripping from his chillingly beautiful lips.

No matter the cost, if those lips chose to kiss only me, I’d accept that distorted sense of love, even if it meant putting myself in danger for it, because at least it was mine to hold on to. How was I to know that love should not feel cold, painful, and distant, when I hadn’t known any other kind? 

When love couldn’t be had with a mysterious boy on the other side of the world, I thought it found me through a death note left on a table during my shift at work – those words would lead me four-hundred miles away in secrecy, with thousands of tight knots in my stomach, to the young man who wrote it to no one in particular, just months before. 

I wanted that young man to love me, because why else would life create such a strange and fateful way for two people to meet? And how slim were the chances that we’d find such a strong, mutual attraction and stark relation to each other’s inner turmoil? Life was signaling that we were obviously meant to be.

He extended a loving invite for me to connect my misery with his. Neither of us feared the other’s darkness and promised to never be drawn away by another’s light. Who needs goodness and light when you have full acceptance – especially if that acceptance could lead to someone at last loving the awful person you are? 

My life was nearly cut short by his theft of my time and our disregard for my safety, on my secret trip home from our first in-person encounter. It was time to leave; I was utterly exhausted by two days of silencing my instincts and almost no sleep, but he wanted to hold on to me for just a little longer, and that communicated the beginning of love to me.

Two hours down the road, the song Love Rhymes with Hideous Car Wreck blasted through my ears as my mind drifted to sleep. Seconds later, I awoke to the feeling of my car swerving along a bare interstate, and just feet from a concrete pillar, it finally stopped in a shallow snowbank. The wreck was not hideous, I was safe, and my trip remained unknown…because much later down the line I’d discover that that had not been love.

Love hadn’t been found in the shadows of cemeteries, nor beyond the forest’s unseeable doors to other worlds. It couldn’t be imagined to reality through written stories about charming immortal men or wielding magical keys, nor in that moment could it be brought to life by a fortuitous real-life encounter. How could there be hope when not fantasy, but real life, had failed me? 

If love was too far out of reach, I could instead use my craving for success to build a vision for my future and create a life I’d enjoy. It became obvious that such a thing would never be possible in my small Midwestern town, surrounded by people with few-to-no dreams, who were content with responses like, Same ole same ole, or even worse, Nothing. 

So, I’d go to college and get a degree, which had been said was the only path that afforded people a respectable life with a comfortable living wage. I’d begin that journey in a few months, but not without a couple summer flings, and one last hoorah before sinking into years of tirelessly working and studying my way through school – a rock show with a silly little goal to kiss a random stranger before the night was done. 

Of course, the guy I’d select would be Him, but if not, it would still be fun. Although true love had failed to find me, I still held onto the hope that it was somewhere. A guy, at some point, was bound to appear, to sweep me off my feet, to change my life entirely – and maybe he’d be there. I just needed to trust my gut on which guy he was, and I’d simply just know it when he accepted my unsolicited kiss.   

We kissed, we danced, we departed…love couldn’t be with the wild guy in the crowd because he would be leaving Nebraska the next day, and I was to remain trapped there, bound by an acceptance letter and full registration of classes. I was a couple months away from turning eighteen, and he was already twenty-three. Just forget all about him, it wasn’t meant to be.

But who could ever know that a simple, silly goal over the summer would lead to great complexity at the realization that college wasn’t for me? Yet, if I dropped out, I’d be a failure – not just in my own eyes, but to everyone else around me. Except for him, the one who urged me to have fun and travel instead of getting a pointless degree. 

So, which was more important – building a life through achievements and success, or pursuing another fateful encounter for the chance of finally finding love and true connection? And what if there was an offer on the table that could provide both?

I’d be crazy not to take it, wouldn’t I?

***

This piece was written to Prompt Six in the Writing to Reckon Journal: For Survivors of Spiritual, Religious and Cultic Abuse — December 2023

(Title credit: lyrics from Love Rhymes with Hideous Car Wreck by The Blood Brothers )