It was early. About an hour before the alarm meant to go off. I woke up and just hurt. My body felt heavy and I couldn’t sink into it enough. Tears. Just a few. It was uncomfortable to feel that ache. An ache for him. I can’t even remember what kissing or touching him feels like. I just remember how much I loved him. I loved him so. September. Our first trip together. The first time he let himself be. He would pull me in and rested his head on my shoulder in the airport. He was expressive in the ways I craved for nearly a year. I remember coming back. All forms of public transit transitioning us to the hectic city, each one more and more crowded. The subway in Penn Station was full of lines and commotion. We ran into one of my friends and didn’t get a moment to really say goodbye. We took the train one stop and before I got off I held him tight and said, “I love you.” I didn’t apologize after, which I had done so many times before because those words were always “too much” and “he wasn’t sure how he felt about me” and “he wasn’t in a place to be a boyfriend” or “have a relationship”. I pushed my way through the crowd and got off the train. I asked my friend for a hug and a joke to avoid tears. I just loved him so much and it hurt. I was embarrassed. I think I knew that the only time he could actually be was when he was away from the city, the distractions. In those moments, he was able to express his love for me. I do believe he loved me, even then. I am not sure he was ever “in love” with me, which is why those trips seemed so important – albeit unsustainable – because he let himself do the things someone does when they are “in love”.
We should have taken the full day, but he wanted to come back early so he could work. So telling. This was always met with regret on the few trips taken together, “we should have just taken the full day”. I would always tell him we could on the next trip. We never did. At the office I fell back into the worry. The wondering if I should contact him first. The deciding to wait because he was honest. Which is why when I got an email from him an hour into being back that said, “I miss Key West”, I knew that meant he missed me too. And so I stayed. I waited for each moment like that. That would let me feel what I really believe he felt, love, but couldn’t express. And so I stayed, until “he couldn’t do it anymore” and I did not fight it because I couldn’t fight for him anymore.
Time. Space. Time.
The heartache of loving someone is just that. An ache. Heavy and dull. It lasts for a moment. Tears may fall. But it does go away. As I move ahead, the signs are clearer. The intuition is stronger. The self-love is a c t u a l l y there and being with moments of being uncomfortable – including that ache – help me to be patient, let go, and make room for more – including love.
I was waiting for it to break me. Or something. The pressure and the weight had been so overwhelming. It’s funny how your head, heart, and your gut (the deepest part) can have conversations with one another – yet no one is heard. Noise is created and ignored.
Until it’s not anymore.
And you say the words you desperately didn’t want to say.
But the moment they leave, the weight seems to dissipate.
The molecules are shifting and the time is moving. forward, forward, and on.
You wish it worked out differently. You really do.
You wish new words could be shared and new laughs could be had.
But something brings you back. To focus. To clarity. Questions abound and you’re reminded that new words and new laughs will be shared. In time.
I won’t get mad
And I won’t break in two
‘Cause I understand you
I’ll take this change
And let my clothes soak with rain
As I study orchid blooms
And some can’t live unless they feed on fallen leaves
And so you’ll let me down to come alive when you comfort me
I’ve watched you change,
I’ve heard your words rearrange
Way back from the start
And if I did teach you anything at all
I hope it was to love with all your heart
And they open wide with imperfect symmetry
And so you’ll love like you, and I will love like me
And to be reborn
They have to go to seed
So angel, you will have to set me free
- maria taylor
I read these great prose pieces and writings by people that are learning to forgiven themselves.
I think about forgiveness and self-love.
I tell people that it’s the thing that matters the most.
I know this is true.
But when it comes to myself and actually being what I say.
I must confess, I can’t. It’s hard. I struggle.
I make mistakes. I hurt people. I say mean things. I ruin moments. I ruin everything. I feel like I ruin everything. I can never keep my mouth shut. There are moments of so much self-loathing that I wish could somehow make my body inside out. I just wish there was a different way to experience this pain. This terrible, unforgiving hatred.
I hate this feeling.
I can’t stand it.
I know it’s not right.
There is part of myself. Somewhere In. My brain. My skin. My organs, that know that I’m far too harsh on myself. That overlook the full situation and only see my wrong doings, but they are so overcome. So overwhelmed. So.
I wish I wasn’t so emotional. That I didn’t have so much feeling. That I didn’t feel anything.
I know this is an extreme, but in this moment. I can’t stand myself, but I’ll keep moving ahead. Work through these lists. Updates in content management systems. Thank you notes for my volunteers. Silly gchats and I’ll sip this coffee. I’ll feel it in my stomach. I’ll write these emails and I’ll keep reading words of inspiration. I’ll think and I’ll dream. I’ll wish I didn’t feel this way. And maybe I’ll be distracted enough to not. But it will be back. It always is.