Losing the hurt

It's been a while, and I still miss you. I've tried talking myself out of it, unsuccessfully, and just given in.

The good news is you're no longer a sharp pain in my heart. When someone mentions you, I no longer store it away to examine later, to treasure it and cry over it in private.

You're still a huge part of my life, whether I'm being guarded or not, something will always creep up that reminds me of you. But when I whisper your name now, it's a charm. A reminder of something beautiful that will always be kept safe inside me. The bitterness is gone, the hurt has drained away.

But I'll always miss you. And wish you were here, with me.

Unfair

I've had some good days lately. I'm grateful for them, and am determined to enjoy them while they last. I've learnt that even in the insanity that currently surrounds my life, I can find a space for myself sometimes, and be at peace. It's a fragile bubble, one that bursts often, and painfully, but surrounds me again. I owe it to my friends for helping it stay around me as long as it has, this time. Things are so different when you have people around you to hug you, people you know you can really rely on. It doesn't always make the actual problems easier to solve, but it does make life more bearable. I'm glad that this time, I'm trying harder to pull my friends close, and not push them away like the last. But maybe that's because I rediscovered an old friend without whom I'd be lost now.

She gives me strength that I'd never have found if not for her. She inspires me, with her faith in me, to try and be better though I feel like it's a hopelessly lost cause. Her sense of adventure, her longing to try things that she couldn't do because of circumstances... it makes me ashamed that I, who should be able to do them, am scared to try. Watching her give and be strong, supporting everyone around her, I want to be more like that. She cares, even though it hurts, showing me what it's like to really love selflessly.

I look at her, and wonder why she doesn't see it - the beauty that's in her. Her friends see it, they're drawn to her, and she mothers them and takes care of them, and never seems to see that they're there because of here. That they are a group because of her love holding them together still. I wonder why she waits for a man to tell her who to be, when inside, she's all I'd love to be. I hope she never compromises who she is again. That she finds the strength to grow into the amazing individual we all see in her. I also hope she finds the man who complements her, and who loves her for herself. A man who has the strength and belief in himself and in her, to handle the amazing person she is now, and is still to become. And that they make gorgeous little babies who climb trees and swing on gates and drive me completely mad.

She's funny, and bad and crazy and silly. She makes mistakes, and through it all, she gets up and keeps going... with a little help from her friends, her dogs, and sometimes her contrary cat. She's no saint. She's my friend.

I started writing this to complain about something someone else did to me. But I've realised that it doesn't matter how unfair some stupid acquaintance is to me. It doesn't matter, because the people who have been there all along are the ones who are important.

I've been praising just one of my old friends, but I have as much to be grateful for in my other old friends who have been there as well, if not always, because they had their own lives to deal with. They've brightened my day too, with surprise calls, and the little things that mean so much. Then there's new friends. They haven't been tested by time, so I've no idea how long they'll be here. But my life is a brighter place thanks to them. They don't know about this blog, so they'll never see it. But I hope someday soon, I can tell them exactly how much they've done for me.

There are two people that I do have to thank on this blog. Guiding Spirit and Delilah, your comments have reminded me that I'm not alone out here in the great big internet. A little hope goes a long way, and you've given me quite a lot. Thank you. =)

Two-Step

Step forward, step back, forward, then back.

They taught me how to dance... and then I learnt to dance with you, and forgot everything else. This is not how it's supposed to be.

I should have known better. I'm old enough and smart enough, but I've never been detached enough. Never drag someone else into a life that's too messed up to hold its own. No one new can fix what you yourself can't, not if it involves your heart.

If I'd met you earlier, or later... But 'what if's don't matter anyway.

And it's the same cycle, over and over, like a beginner's waltz where no one knows any steps but the three.

I want to let you go. I do. I swear I do. You're happier now, from what I hear, and there are people who will love me and need me just as I am. But I need you.

I call you sometimes, just to hear your voice. I text you, hoping against hope that you will respond, if only to say you never want to hear from me again, because I crave that connection. I never thought I'd sink so low, not for anyone. But I have, and I can't talk myself out of it. I don't understand. Is it because I wronged you? Is it because you left, and not me? Am I losing touch with reality from hoping so much? I don't know how to let you go, and so, everyday, I play back pictures of us, all ending with you walking away. I've told you I wouldn't try to talk to you anymore. I don't know how I will, but I'll try. Forgive me if I fail sometimes. It's only because I miss you and I love you in a way I'll never understand. Which is why I'm trying to let you go, even though I fail. I wish you'd talk to me, tell me again that there's nothing here. Hopefully if I heard it enough, it'd sink in. But maybe you know me better than I know myself, and it'll never be enough. Maybe it's just not worth the effort for you. The thought hurts, so why won't it cure me? This has gone on too long.

To the other one. The one who saved me, against all odds. I thought that gratitude would be enough. That I could give you my life without all of my heart. How stupid could I be? And why did you let me? I used your love for me. I may not have known it, but how can that make it better? I love you too, but not enough. How can that make sense? And after what I've been through, how can I expect you to go through it too?

I'm sorry for the mess that is my life. A month ago, I'd have given up, I'd have said I couldn't take it anymore, and I'd have tried to kill myself. Today, I have to go on. I'm not sure whether that's strength, or stupidity.

Getting back up

A first step. A small one.

Pushing forward through darkness and confusion. Knowing you won't be there. Finding a way not to care. Life is out there, and I will find it, will live it. And the maybes will fade. This time will fade. And I will go on.

Strength is hard to find after so long wasting away, but I had it once. Sanity amongst all the madness of this mad, mad world. It will be alright. Hard to believe when others say it. But now, finally, maybe I can find the courage to.

Missing you surrounded my world for so long. Wrapped it in a shroud of aching, longing, yearning. But you're not here. And maybe never will be. I miss you still, a part of me lost. But it was your choice, so I must make mine. And you've left me no other. So I will learn, and I will grow. And I will hope.. that someday, somewhere, we'll meet again, and I'll hold my own. Unafraid. And you'll see. You'll see me.

But for today, enough of somedays and somehows. I need to find the now.

Live, Love, Lose

Standing at yet another edge of sanity, looking back, I'm wondering whether the choice to jump off was worth it. But what was there left to do? Latent hatred, roiling anger,and the desire to no longer be here, do this leaves me speechless. I wonder why you, and why you had the impact on me that you did. In picking up the pieces, I keep finding bits missing. It wasn't your fault, the wrong time, wrong place, wrong person mess of it all. Maybe it was mine, and I am sorry. But I've said I'm sorry so many times. And what good would it do even if we were to be friends again? What could I do with a friendship like yours now?

I have everything I need, and yet memories of you claw at me. I hide them out of sight, where no one can see, where no one will ever know but me, and pull them out to flail myself with when I'm in need of no further pain. Someday, maybe I will let myself free, in the meantime, the penance goes on. Maybe that's why I need your friendship, so I can let that go. But what use is it asking you? I've been nothing to you for so long now that it wouldn't matter if I asked.

My most recent ex-love, the most tumultuous of them all, I dream of you still. Different from the others in ways I can't begin to define. Do you ever let go of something like that, or does it seep into the flaws of your being, coating them over, giving them a different shape?

I've lost so much, and yet I've gained so much. Here's to the future.

The Way Things Are

I haven't been able to write. I've been blocked, completely. Nothing at all, not little snatches of poetry, not my thoughts or feelings. They've all been stuck inside me for a while now. And I find that scary. Because I've always been able to write. It's the one thing that could set me free, give me the release I couldn't find from talking to other people. Having that outlet cut off made me feel lost, like part of me was dammed. I don't feel like I have it back yet, but I'm clawing my way there.

Things have been happening lately that I didn't think would ever happen, and I don't know how I feel about them. And they all happen at once, or in a sequence that knocks me off balance and keeps me on my knees. Every time I think I've fought my way back to some semblance of equilibrium, something else comes at me and leaves me reeling. I've always wondered if it's my fault, and the way things are, I'm going back to believing it. I know I shouldn't. Things just.. happen.

It hurt when dad left. I cried myself to sleep and it makes me feel so - weak. I don't think I ever really had a hard shell, but at least I had the illusion of one. But I'll accept that, 'cause he's my father.

And then yesterday, I cried again. It's strange, this feeling of loss. I thought I'd get used to it. Maybe I will. But I don't want to, so why should I have to get used to it. Aren't we supposed to save the things that are important to us? But how do you know at which point it goes from saving something valuable to clinging in vain to something irredeemable?

My Kryptonite

... is you.

I never learn, do I? If you open yourself up to people, you give them the power to hurt you. They may not mean to, will swear to you that they'd rather do a million unpleasant things like sleeping on a bed made exclusively of live, writhing snakes and thorns, but believe them at your peril. Most often, they'd make it feel like it's your fault. Not that I'm perfect, but no one deserves to be shunted aside until they're convenient, or to have someone be angry with them for needing time.

So, screw true love. Screw relationships. Just screw 'em all.

Flight

I'm tempted to run again. Just barely holding myself together. I can feel the panic building, the familiar tension. It's a flight reaction because I can't remember how to fight. He tells me it'll be alright, and I nod and smile, but I think even he can see I'm not convinced - not entirely.

It's early this time. I promise not to think about it, to just let it go, but inside, my thoughts are churning. Why, I wonder, do I yearn to be held back, kept safe, steady; despite fighting it all the while? I used to think that maybe it was the person I was with who couldn't hold me. Now I know better - the one to tame the beast must be me.

But do I even want to? What am I searching for? How will I know?

Life.

This is where I'd usually write a long, tearful post about how everything sucks and it's all my fault and shit. But to be honest, I'm sick of feeling that way. Life's messy and you don't get it right all the time. Sometimes the choices you make affect other people. And there are always consequences.

But you live through it. I always have. Sometimes with a bit more drama and a lot less will to live. The point is, though, that it always ends. It may come back to haunt you later, but dragging yourself through the mud until then is unlikely to help.

I'm moving on. Maybe I made the wrong choices, but there's f###-all I can do about it now.

I hope we stay friends. Or become friends, considering the current state of things. It sounds stupid to me when I say he means a lot to me, but he does. He's still the most amazing person I know. Strange, huh?

Hello

You might've noticed this whole blog has been in the third person so far. In case you were wondering, which I doubt you were, 'cause no one seems to read this anyway, it was this way because I wanted to distance myself from the part of me that felt all those things.

This has been my venting blog for a while now, it's just that the venting takes a different form from F###F###F###F###!!! though that would be nice. I just can't make myself say the word unless I'm really sad or angry. Comes of living with your grandparents for too long, I guess. :D

Why, then, am I taking a break from the third person? Maybe because I want to make this my main blog. Maybe because the last few weeks have been difficult, and I want to connect with something, even if it's just a blog.

So, since I'm starting over, I thought I'd say hi. So. erm. Hi. *awkward wave*

I'm tired, I'm sad, I'm hurt. And I know I have to keep pretending nothing happened so I won't worry my family. I'll figure this out. I know I will.

Revisiting

She stands back, apart from herself, watching the thoughts coalesce. She sees them as she would see someone else's life. Scenes - colourful, picturesque events - happening as though they were a movie with a narrator talking unceasingly about one character's thoughts, feelings and motives.

One character. Herself.

She's not sure she likes this blend of her past and present. It's discomfiting, the way everything seems to flow so easily together until it's all a blur.

She wishes she could pause, let one idea roll around her mind, taste it and absorb it before moving on, but it refuses to be stilled, flowing seamlessly into the next image from something so irrelevant that it's a strain to try and find logical sequences in this train of thought.

Faces of old loves flash through her mind, sharing space with the awkward fumbling of lust-driven caresses. She remembers trying to stifle her laughter at the ridiculousness of the whole thing, knowing that she wouldn't be able to deal with the hurt and lack of comprehension in his eyes.

She sees it all again, as she did then, detached, aloof, refusing to surrender all of herself to the heat, the sweat, the urgency of the moment. She watches herself watch them, a story within a story.

She hears the commentary in her head and wonders if it's like that for him. Evaluating it critically, she doesn't think so. He appears lost in the growing tension between them. She knows she's in control and doesn't want to be. She wants him to force her out of herself. To make her stop thinking, stop judging them, debating the rights and wrongs of what they're doing - just to force herself to let go and to drown in the mindless passion that should be consuming them both.
She feels the tension growing, drawing her inescapably toward climax and wonders how she can still think -why she still can't let go. And then it's done.

Physically sated, she's still left with a gnawing sense of discontent - a nagging sensation that something wasn't quite right.

The thoughts run on, exploring other avenues, digging up old questions. She can't sleep.

Back and forth

She sighs. Thoughts of him fill her mind, and she closes her eyes and lets her thoughts drift back to him, a small smile playing on her lips. He never fails to make her smile. Then why does she push him away, she wonders, thoughts of his impending departure pushing the smile off her face entirely.

She realises that she can't help it. Whenever he gets too close, she feels stifled. Claustrophobic, penned in by his sweetness, his similarity to her, everything that brought them together. She wishes she didn't feel that way - she's grateful for the good things, she knows... but what use is gratitude?


She's drawn to him... she loves all the little things that he does that make her feel so special. She doesn't want to let him go. But she knows that if he doesn't leave for a while, if they don't spend some time apart, she'll leave. It's almost as though the passion with which she's attracted to him pushes her away from him with its intensity.

And then she'd regret it.

Until the next one.