the lesser of two evils

This would have been so much easier if he did not love me. It would have been easier still if I were like other girls, if I could just love him back, as I feel like I should. I would be hard-pressed to find one kinder, gentler, or more earnest, and yet "an indescribable oppression, which seems to generate in some unfamiliar part of my consciousness, fills my whole being with a vague anguish. It is like a shadow, like a mist passing across my soul's summer day."

I often find myself wondering, Why does he love me? I do not know what there is to love about me so much. I am petty. I am foolish. I am irrational. I am hurtful. I don't make any sense. And yet, he loves on, and it is remarkable indeed, for I confess I doubt any other man would ever be so generous.

Yet here I am again, unable to cope with what seems to be an inability to love. I feel cold and disconnected from my own existence. On the outside, I do my best to conform, to do what I know I should, to do that which makes logical sense. Yet inside, I question always. My intentions are only for the best, yet there is always that part of me which dissents, that inner chamber of myself, whispering things which I can only ignore for so long.

And so I find myself standing at a crossroads, trying to choose between the lesser of two evils:

Should I cut myself off, break his heart and perhaps find happiness someday in my own lonely freedom? Shall I bear the burden of having forsaken his love all for the selfish sake of securing myself some fresh air? Or, should I stay with him, preserve his heart and perhaps find happiness someday in his arms? Perhaps love simply comes more slowly than I wish for. It is absurd to assume that I will love someone after only about four months of dating them, despite every reason that I should. For all I know, I could just need more time.

Whatever I choose, it will bring unhappiness to either one or both of us. I almost feel as if I should just choose the option that will at least guarantee his happiness. To have caused my own unhappiness: that, I could live with, but to make someone else miserable...that is a thing much more difficult to bear.

So, as on the summit of Gethsemane, I am praying for the strength and the will to sacrifice my own life for the sake of my dear, dear friend. I should carry the cross of my own selfishness, my dissatisfaction, my inability to commit, and give myself away upon it. My heart is wild and uncertain, and I must tame it. I must be realistic. "The acme of bliss...is not for me in this world." He has fallen in love, "as men are in the habit of doing," and I should devote myself to the "man who worships me," taking my place "with a certain dignity in the world of reality, closing the portals forever behind me upon the realm of romance and dreams."

Ah! Si tu savais! Has The Awakening taught me nothing?

I do not know if I can provide for him the love and peace and devotion that he needs. If he truly wants me, then unfortunately he wants someone who is simply incapable of loving him all the time, the way he deserves to be loved. He has bestowed his love upon a most unworthy recipient, for I suffer from the terrible, incurable disability of being unable to love properly, and we are both the unhappy victims.

My own inadequacy is to blame for what has happened. Much as I care for him, there are times when I wish, for both our sakes and especially for his, that we had never met. But I must find a way to forgive myself for that which I cannot change. I must pray that God will show me the right way to resolve the situation. I must try to trust myself enough to listen.

More than anything, I need to get away, to run to the north, into the woods. I need to find some peace and quiet, where I can think.