I am a difficult woman to love. This is a fact. Like saying I have brown hair. Or nice tits. (Arguably the latter is subjective, but mine are nice enough that I will assume I could get the sort of consensus necessary for it to be passed off as fact. Besides, this is Science, not science.) My point is that this is simply so. I can be more accommodating in certain directions, but I cannot change it.
Nor should I. Much of what makes me difficult to love is also what makes me so lovable: I have great spirit and passion, I am fierce, I am (almost) always up for fun (even when it is time for bed), and I almost always find it. My emotional life is rich and deep, varied and nuanced. And I have a near (or actual) compulsion to share it. I am pathetically broken, and astoundingly whole. I am impulsive, which means you never know what to expect, but there are lots of fun surprises.
There is an interesting balance I must undertake in accepting this about myself, though. Err too far one way, and self-deprecation creeps in...I devalue myself and make concessions I never should. I feel myself in debt to my partner for tolerating me, and resent that person for being so much better, so much easier to love, than I am.
Err too far the other way, and I am likely to do even more of a disservice to my partner and the relationship. I will take that person for granted. I will forget to try to be the best me I can bring to them. I will forget that I can be trying--and I need to be patient when their patience is tried. I might forget the whole universe of need and want that lies on the other side.
If I am brutally honest, I can see that this has happened. All of it. Sometimes separate, sometimes all at once. Throughout my past, and even recently. And I cannot change what has been. And this is another balance: Remembering the errors of my past, so I do not repeat them, but not beating myself into despair with my prior short comings.
All I can do is try. Because I am a difficult woman to love, but I am very worth loving. I am very worth loving.
It isn't Science. It isn't drunk. And it sure as hell ain't funny...but sometimes my voice isn't funny. That is what I am trying to find here. My voice. Because sometimes the sad, or the angry, or the just plain complicated get tied up in the funny. So this is part of my voice, and I have to find a way to incorporate it.
I am worth loving.