What if I told you I do not really miss you? How, in bed I never creep to the side where you used to sleep or wish that you were still here with me. What if I do not wake up from nightmares that you are gone because your absence is my reality? What if I let go of you the way you let go of me? Some may call what has happened, mandatory redirection. They will tell us that we were not capable of love from the start. They will say the more we try to fix things, the more we will inevitably get lost. The problem is, you were already broken. Before you came looking for me you neglected to find yourself. All your energy spent in the wrong direction–trying to be “all things” to somebody else. If I have learned anything, I know now that I am equally responsible. I used to think I needed to compensate for the missing pieces you brought to my table. Believing I was the compass that would help you get where you needed to go. No one on this Earth can fill these heavenly holes. In my dreams, I question my own misguided actions. I do not try to carry your weight anymore. And in my aggressive quest for my own wellness; I am determined to show you, my jilted lover–to the door.
Real love is unreasonable. When your heart truly wants something it will go after it even after analyzing the costs. Many people have told me that I am broken. They say there are so many compound fractures that there is no way those little pieces will ever fit together again. So imagine a person with this level of damage attempting to build with another on a shattered foundation. Being so distracted by your wounds
that you reject the opportunity for healing.
I have failed at certain aspects of life that many people find easy. School, work, family, romantic and platonic relationships–all of these have been negatively impacted by a common denominator–ME. I thought being perfect meant I could hide behind my smile and a helpful nature. I believed I could pretend I was whole. But the truth is the only thing I needed was acceptance. An acceptance that could never be offered while I hid the darkest parts of my soul.
When you are hurting and try to conceal the problem, you are only pushing the issue down temporarily. Like a jack in the box, eventually it gets wound up until there is no other option but release. In those moments, pain gets forced out of its cage. There can be no conversation, no bargaining for patience. What was once a minor issue has grown into a careless monster full of rage. And angry me has no problem pushing the object of my affection away.
Do I continue to use the excuse that I am broken?
Is there ever a substantial purpose in pain?
Or is brokenness the final solution if it protects you from getting hurt again?
Every day I push away the effects of my self-inflicted heartache and turn the other cheek towards what lies ahead of me. Reminiscing on the past used to be enough but now I am invested in the things that have yet to come. It is typical of us to search our history–looking for ways to recover what we lost. We stand in the same exact place where he/she/they left us. Waiting for that same person to pick us back up.
I realized in this fantasy that I have already started moving. Even when I do not want to, I am led by a desire to prove that I can handle myself without being attached to another human being. Everything I have comes from prayer, hard work and an annoying inability to give up on the one person I cannot live without–me. Even when I am hurting I still find the will to keep going. This time, the person who left was me.
I guess this is why it seems like I am okay, because I was gone before the crisis came our way. I spent nights wondering why the person I loved could not love me the way I needed. Feeling alone in a relationship that was not moving forward. Sometimes, I try to reach out and make peace because I feel guilty for choosing solitude over stagnancy. Even now, the thought of being alone is absolutely terrifying.
But I cannot pretend this is not happening. I set these wheels in motion because I did not believe in the future my partner was painting. All I wanted was a rough draft in the form of a commitment. What I received were more ideas and promises–but never anything concrete. I began to believe that he was not really committed to me. And I am proved as much as he retreats from my life abruptly.
I am a fighter who will give everything even when I am not being met half way.
But it is a waste of time trying to fight for someone who does not want to stay.
There will always be a part of me
that is resistant to change.
But the truth is so much harder to ignore
when you keep making the same mistakes.
Doubt trickles into my subconscious.
I want better, but I am a prisoner
to my current state.
Afraid to exercise patience, self-control
and most of all, release.
Captive to desires that are
more interested in fighting than peace.
No one can exist in two alternate planes.
You are either working towards a purpose
or passively remaining the same.
We are terrible at taking steps away from grief.
Hard-hearted lovers who no longer believe.
Terrible when truth keeps us chained to our pain.
When we have no other option, but to walk away.
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I love you, beyond reason. And most of the time, without doubt.
But sometimes, my brokenness slips past the cracks of my control.
Rising up from the basement–where I’ve kept its influence at bay.
Until it finds a way into my mouth. And forces me to lash out.
I have learned to live with its existence. To give grief and pain a place.
Because no matter how much you love someone, there will be times
that you push them away.
I retreat. To my corner, to my bedroom, to a horizontal position on the couch.
Sinking deeper into the cushions. Getting comfortable in the gloom and the clouds.
Will you find me beneath the dark waters? Swim harder if you know I will drown?
Or will the murky surroundings conceal your vision?
And keep us both from climbing back out.
I remember being assured that failure was not a permanent disposition. That mistakes made in earnest pursuit of the truth would eventually take me to the right place. Still, I endeavored to perfect my ability to get it right the first time. Who wants to drop the ball or try and then fall when there is an option to be the best at everything?
In early grade school I believed that I could handle it all. In time I learned that I had a broad aptitude for many different subjects, semi-athletic skills and a mouth that could fill in the remaining gaps. What I lacked, however, was that one specific thing that I could claim was meant for me.
Some people ran faster, scored higher and knew exactly what was in their destiny. I envied those with their heads on straight and dreams that were supported by their perfect families. I could not understand what made me different or why the idea of excellence seemed so far away.
I had a hard time believing that what was special about me was the fact that I was not the same.
As a parent now I urge my daughter to celebrate and learn from her mistakes. Perfectionism is a crippling disease and I vow not to let her inherit what I have had to learn the hard way. We all need to get more comfortable with the truth of our individual and beautiful flaws.
The truth about perfection, is that nobody is perfect at all.
Bear with me,
I carry the effects of my poor excuse for a memory. I may not remember everything but I always feel the pain in my body. It aches behind my eyes and in spots I cannot place. I try to sleep it off but it is with me when I awake. I wonder, what good is remembering the past if you fail to learn from your grief? How do you fight for something when you’ve begun to lose all belief? The mind plays tricks–looking for cracks to disprove what experience taught. Trust is the confident arrow aiming to break your fragile heart. For so long I fought against creating a life of my own. But I am a community, I am a building–A vacant chair in an empty home.
They said I don’t really need you.
What I need is understanding and a patience that most people have forgotten to treasure. What is wrong with doing it my way if my direction keeps us together? Maybe this room is not big enough, and this chair is too small. Maybe we are not meant to be a community after all. I do better when time passes and I have learned to play my part. We deny truth in favor of doing the right thing.
But what good is your pride, valor, or integrity if they all keep you away from me?
We tend to ask questions when we already know what we need.