Levels of comprehension
So I never thought things would get this bad. I am at a point in my life where I have a sudden understanding of heartbreak, or real pain. I spend a lot of time feeling sorry for myself. I spend a lot of time trying to figure out what went wrong, why I can't fix it. Why it's broken, and why even though I broke it, it's up to someone else to put it back.
You who think you know what it's like to hurt. Maybe you had a bad breakup, from your little sweetie you went out with for four whole months. Maybe you had sex with someone you didn't really want to and you're having trouble dealing with it. Maybe you humiliated yourself in front of the whole school.
I wish I could go back to that innocence, that childlike level of pain. But now there's a hole in my heart, and it will never get back. I may fill it with positives, with art and music, and friends who are strong enough to look past their own pain to love.
But it will never be the same again.
I fall easily into self pity right now. I have little to look to right now that used to drive me. More than that, part of me wants to wallow. Part of me looks at this pain and says, it is so massive, it deserves much attentions. Which is silly.
I will look to my art, I will try to enjoy study, I will try to remember my old friends and see if they can't still bring happiness and fun like they used to. The thought hardly appeals. I don't want to settle. I never have on anything. I've always known that even if it leaves me alone and old, I will never settle on the person I choose to marry.
Maybe Karate will find its way back into my life.
I read this little advice column about a guy feeling similarly, with no passion for life left after a bad break. And the advice guy was admonishing him about how if he ever wanted to have another relationship, he couldn't be this pathetic uninterested-in-life guy with no hobbies.
I just wish that I had something that meant more to me than love and people. Or at least meant enough that it could distract me into enjoying something almost as much as I do the rest of that.
All I can do is hope.
It's going to be so hard. So so hard.
But look at it that I will live. Look at it from the perspective that I haven't known the pain of losing a child or a close family member.
I wouldn't trade this pain, this experience, this living, for anything. I take it back, I don't wish anymore that I could go back to innocence from pain. I would never trade what I have for anything.
I just will believe in that.
I wouldn't trade it for anything.
I believe in balance, that things will come back and be better.
I believe in love, and its power to overcome fear.
I will believe.
It's going to be so hard.
But I will believe.
You who think you know what it's like to hurt. Maybe you had a bad breakup, from your little sweetie you went out with for four whole months. Maybe you had sex with someone you didn't really want to and you're having trouble dealing with it. Maybe you humiliated yourself in front of the whole school.
I wish I could go back to that innocence, that childlike level of pain. But now there's a hole in my heart, and it will never get back. I may fill it with positives, with art and music, and friends who are strong enough to look past their own pain to love.
But it will never be the same again.
I fall easily into self pity right now. I have little to look to right now that used to drive me. More than that, part of me wants to wallow. Part of me looks at this pain and says, it is so massive, it deserves much attentions. Which is silly.
I will look to my art, I will try to enjoy study, I will try to remember my old friends and see if they can't still bring happiness and fun like they used to. The thought hardly appeals. I don't want to settle. I never have on anything. I've always known that even if it leaves me alone and old, I will never settle on the person I choose to marry.
Maybe Karate will find its way back into my life.
I read this little advice column about a guy feeling similarly, with no passion for life left after a bad break. And the advice guy was admonishing him about how if he ever wanted to have another relationship, he couldn't be this pathetic uninterested-in-life guy with no hobbies.
I just wish that I had something that meant more to me than love and people. Or at least meant enough that it could distract me into enjoying something almost as much as I do the rest of that.
All I can do is hope.
It's going to be so hard. So so hard.
But look at it that I will live. Look at it from the perspective that I haven't known the pain of losing a child or a close family member.
I wouldn't trade this pain, this experience, this living, for anything. I take it back, I don't wish anymore that I could go back to innocence from pain. I would never trade what I have for anything.
I just will believe in that.
I wouldn't trade it for anything.
I believe in balance, that things will come back and be better.
I believe in love, and its power to overcome fear.
I will believe.
It's going to be so hard.
But I will believe.
posted by Elysia @ 20:03
2 Comments:
At 5:53 PM ,
Elizabeth said...
God. Yes.
At 1:54 AM ,
Anonymous said...
Holes are interesting things... To make a gouge, a part of of something has to be moved somewhere else. In relationships, we place those pieces in people, whether carelessly portioned, gigantic chunks, or carefully scrutinized slivers. Trust allows us to do this: it makes us believe that the benefit is worth the pain. The intriguing, and often overlooked aspect about holes, is that that chunk or sliver has to go somewhere; it has to be placed in someone's care.
*Enter pain: stage right*
Now we've been hurt. Our holes feel like nakedness, a nakedness so revealing that our greatest impulse is to shun the audience, merely foresaking those to whom we entrusted our pieces. We feel shattered. Broken. Suddenly lacking. Turning damp, reddened eyes towards our assailing observers - those who see into our holes without even trying, knowing they've been given the pieces that fit them. I am such an audience member, though I am proud to have once been trusted to hold such pieces. My beleaguered point is that making a hole requires removing pieces of something. Pain comes from feeling like that something is lost, poorly invested, or squandered on naivety. My pieces hold no such meaning to me. Would that I could give you back this displaced material. For as much as you cover your holes, so do I protect your pieces. After all, they are all I have left of you in my life. And I would love for you to realize that these pieces aren't lost, they were not wasted, they have not been squandered - they are just being cared for in an unlikely place.
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