I am a Cruel Person
How to Love and not to Love — A personal essay
I am young, but please do not envy me for that. Being young means that I inevitably make countless mistakes that will make me cringe in retrospect. Recall the times in your youth that you wish you had just thought a little longer, times you wish you had just thought things through a little bit more. Being young requires that you exist in those embarrassing moments perpetually.
Wisdom is a costly virtue. It requires a lot of intuition, but more importantly, it requires failure. Anyone reading this could agree that those failures or those mistakes are often worth it, and though they were painful at the time, they still made you a better person.
I am writing today partly because I want to be completely honest. Initially, I wanted to discuss the topic of religion or politics. Still, before I tackle those issues or express my opinions, I would like to be laid bare before you.
I had a high school sweetheart. We dated for four and a half years before things fizzled out. She was a lovely girl, and I could have treated her better. At the beginning of the relationship, I had been fooling around with another girl for about two months without my girlfriend’s knowledge. I was fifteen, and my ego had grown considerably. As a result, I became painfully insecure — as is often the case with narcissists. I lied to my girlfriend for the duration of our relationship, and I was even able to convince her that all of her friends were lying.
Within days of the relationship ending, I entered into another. I could not tolerate spending even a moment alone. Unfortunately for this new girl, I had brought all of my secrets and all of my lies with me. She would also never come to find out what I had done.
This girl was beautiful, and she had changed me entirely. I felt the tremendous weight of competition levied against me. Every man wanted her, but only I had her. But I couldn’t ever appreciate what I had and felt I was never good enough. How could a wretch like me ever have someone so kind?
Being as insecure as I was, that singular thought never left my mind. Immutable jealousy has a way of tainting relationships, and it ensnared me completely. Every man that looked her way and every person that talked to her was my enemy. I grew to hate going out. I hated people and wanted to seal her off from the world. We would stay at my parent’s house and never leave.
Sitting around getting high and eating unhealthy foods for months on end caused both of us to gain weight and lose confidence. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t fun at the time. Having no responsibilities and consuming recklessly has a way of numbing your intuition.
It was March 2020. Covid-19 hit my city, and all institutions were forced to close. Everyone was confined to their homes, and people were discouraged from interacting with each other for any extended period. Thus, I was caged, and so too my girlfriend. We went weeks without seeing each other or even speaking on the phone. I could see how torturous this was to her, but it didn’t bother me. I was alone, and my government sent me money to stay home and do nothing.
Eventually, it had to end. So one day in June, we finally met again, and I left her. It was at a public park. She was crying. I stood up and said, “I’m gonna leave,” and then left. I would try to sneak my way back into her life on more than one occasion, only hoping for sex. But of course, it meant that I would get her hopes up and she would feel manipulated.
After this last girl, I scoured dating apps and used casual sex to stave off feelings of inadequacy and insecurity. One girl after the other, I would make promises of potential futures only to leave days after without even a goodbye. I grew cold and uncaring. The only thing that mattered was that I wasn’t alone, and people found me attractive.
My mother would often find me the night after seeing a woman; high, sitting in the garage, and watching something on my phone. She would say to me, “this isn’t you. This isn’t making you happy.” She was right, as mothers usually are. I wasn’t happy because I hadn’t cared genuinely for another person in a long time. That ended my bachelor’s life. I knew I wanted to care deeply for something other than myself.
I met someone not long after. I remember she looked at me in a way that no one ever had. She was intoxicating, beautiful, and intelligent but deeply troubled. A lot of her life before I met her was a series of horrendous events, each worse than the last. Every conversation thereafter she would reveal something else in her past that would strike right at my heart.
We spent all our free time together, she shaped the way I think and feel. I would not be reading or writing today if it had not been for her influence. She encouraged me to pursue the things I love, and we frequently had deep discussions. I never felt more connected to another person.
Over time she changed and matured. A year into our dating, she graduated, got a job, and drank very little. She had refined her needs and ambitions, and new opportunities were presented to her. Despite what would end up happening between us, I was and still am proud of everything she accomplished. I always admired people who refused to play the victim despite having just cause, and she truly was the embodiment of that.
As we both matured, this connection we had built eroded. I didn’t talk as honestly as I once had, consequently, I collected more secrets. As the lies compounded, I grew resentful and bitter. I hated her for telling me the truth and calling out my bullshit when she saw it. Staying with her meant that I had to face my sick self constantly.
She would plead with me, begging me to tell her how I felt and why I felt that way. I would lie because I knew if I told her I didn’t love her anymore, all of this effort would be for nothing. If I told her I could not possibly reconcile with her colorful history, I couldn’t see her anymore. I believed that if I could not love this poor girl, nobody would, and she would be alone. So I stayed.
As things drew out, I became cruel. I hated her past and wanted her to feel that. When we finally ended things, she told me she did not believe I respected anybody. She was right: my problem has always been ego. An ego that would not allow me to forgive.
The last time I saw her, she made me promise to change before I inflicted this pain on anybody else. Since then, I have found some peace in my life, rightly or wrongly. Spending more time alone and with my family and friends has helped me reflect on the things I‘ve done. And I can say in complete sincerity that I wish all of these girls find happiness.
This story has not concluded. I am still narcissistic and spiteful, but I’m trying to change. I know what I want and what I can tolerate.
The utility of a strong friendship is often understated. They hold you accountable and keep you humble. A friend of mine once looked at me and said, “I am disappointed in you, Aaron,” from then on I knew I had to face my caustic nature. I have done bad things to kind people, and I knew what I was doing.
And so, to keep myself humble, I’ve written out everything here. Know that I am flawed and capable of being exceptionally cruel. I have been a coward, and I’ve disappointed the people I love. But the weight of these sins is tremendous, and I’m willing to bear that.
Aaron
