Lessons on forgiveness, patience and flawed love

The best thing about going through a breakup is the learning. This is your opportunity to be unapologetically dedicated to growth. Particularly, for me, this is a chance to be unapologetically dedicated to me, because somewhere along the road I ended up a little too dedicated to someone else and it became my undoing when that someone turned into someone else.

There are a number of things that I've learned in the last seven weeks exactly (since, you know, the only thing I've written about in months), about love in particular. One of those things is summed up best by Lauryn Hill somewhere around age 25 when she said that human rarely get love right - real love, the kind of love that builds confidence and doesn't breed insecurity. We don't know how to do unconditional love. "We don't know love like we should. We always talk about 'I have unconditional love'... 'Unconditional love is'... we don't even know it. Because if a person stops stimulating us, we stop loving them." That's what Lauryn said, and she's right. We humans don't get the unconditional love thing, and I think that's totally okay. We're here to learn the whole love thing - if we knew unconditional love without learning then we'd be God. We're not God, we're human. We know human love.

Human love is selfish, and sometimes angry. Human love lacks patience, understanding, forgiveness, empathy (my favourite word, it would appear lol) and it comes with ten thousand and one different conditions. I love you when you're in a good mood. Condition. I love you when I need affection. Condition. I love you while you satisfy my needs. Condition. All these conditions that our love comes with, and part of the growing from this experience requires that I acknowledge all the conditions that my own love comes with. My love is conditional just like yours was. I loved you on the conditions that you were understanding in the ways that I needed you to be, and gentle and soft and honest. I loved you on the condition that you made me feel safe (in more ways that you could understand, I suppose... I wanted the safety of feeling like you still wanted me, even when new things were shinier). So, no, neither of us knew unconditional love - the kind of love that makes relationships last. We knew human love. The kind of love that makes relationships fall apart once the shimmer wears off and the tarnish starts to show. The kind of love that grows tired. The kind of love that succumbs to arguments, to insecurities, to indifference. The kind of love that disrespects. The kind of love is inconsiderate towards each other. The kind of love that doesn't care who hurts. The kind of love that becomes a competition that someone has to win. The kind of love that knows shades of grey.

And, God, I'm so tired of shades of grey. I'm so tired of making excuses for the shades of grey that someone shows. I'm so tired of being unsure, of being insecure. I'm tired of not knowing. I'm tired of living in shades and tints and never really in black or white. Even now, almost two months after the breakup, I don't know where we are. We're still in shades of grey and I'm still making excuses. There is still a giant question mark where the idea of closure haunts me at night, where I wake up nailed to my cross and I don't understand why. So, I'm committing myself to learning and growing and mastering something closer to unconditional love so that I can attract someone else who has also tried to master something closer to unconditional love, and we can love in black and white.

Part of the growing and the learning also requires reflecting on patience and forgiveness. I'm convinced that these two things - in an environment of love - can fix anything. Bear with me on this one. So long as two people (two, not one) are willing to make the effort to be patient with each other and forgive each other for the ways in which they have hurt each other, two people can patch up the holes in their relationship with the ingredients of unconditional love. The trick, however, is that these things seem really easy... before you add human nature into the equation. The human nature that says I am having a bad day and your tone is aggressive, so this is about to be an argument. That human nature is impatient - it wants better, now. It wants easier, now. It wants satisfaction, now. That human nature is also unforgiving, and knows of injustice and rage and blame and anger. That unforgiving human nature is resentful (so, so, so, so resentful and full of hurt and misplaced anger and doesn't know who to blame and stays up all night crying and trying not to hate you and nailing myself to this cross and crying as I type, even now, and desperate for closure and regretting love you and all these feelings that I have).

The patience and the forgiveness cannot fix what is broken now - we don't speak, closure is impossible and all we have is resentment, regret and ashes. I have given up on slamming myself repeatedly into your concrete walls. I am tired of shouting into the wind. I am so fucking tired of blue ticks. Fuck your blue ticks. I will be patient with myself, I will forgive myself and I will close this myself. I am learning my lesson in unconditional love so I can love someone deserving of love when I am deserving of love. Before that, I will learn my lesson in unconditional love so I can love myself. I forgive myself for settling for excuses for shades of grey. I forgive myself for laying myself bare. I forgive myself for tearing myself open and pouring myself out to compensate. I forgive myself for wasting seven whole weeks grieving (and I will forgive myself for any and all grieving to come, with time - until I grieve no more). I forgive myself for the ways in which I let you hurt me. I forgive myself for trying to mend a relationship you didn't want. I forgive myself for becoming desperate and pathetic and a joke. I forgive myself for becoming insecure about being unwanted. I forgive myself, again and again. I forgive myself, and I am patient with the process.

I have not decided what to do from here, and I feel like I still owe you some consideration and some effort of some sort - even though I have to tell myself over and over again that you neither want nor deserve these things, or any things from me. I have considered politely informing you that I will be deleting your number and changing my SIM card, since you claimed that one time that what you wanted was not to be rudely thrown out of my life - so instead of rudely throwing you out of my life, I will politely inform you that I have determined that there is no way you can remain in my life that is healthy. None of these things matter however - you don't respond to anything, you don't actually give a fuck. You will not be thrown out of my life - you have already made your way out of my life, I'm merely ensuring that you cannot come back, which is also pointless because you have no interest in looking back nor an interest in closure. What I do from here is still undecided, but I do know that I will use the new year as an excuse to do whatever I need to do to learn my lesson and move on, closure or not. It's just that it all seems so pointless, and that what I do matters so very little because I will still have to submit to the feelings until they pass. Changing my number will merely mean that you will not know how to call me or text me, but that's the thing about the past... it will always know how to reach you.

This post wandered very far left from where it started, but that's okay. It's all part of the process, I suppose. I'm very all over the place. I write and cry, but that's also okay. Every time I cry, I remind myself that this is me submitting to the emotion so that it can pass. And this too shall pass. Everything does. I'm learning the lessons as they come so that the pain that teaches said lessons can go. Now, this chapter in my story is weaved with tears, but one day I'll look back at this chapter and the story will not make me cry. Until then, I wait patiently and forgive myself and love myself unconditionally and pray for some kind of peace. That's all.

A river of tears keeps springing from my eyes: a post that is not a post

I've barely slept, and everything feels hollow. I'm so frustrated and tired of being miserable and hating myself. I let love ruin me. I convinced myself that love was to bear pain until you split open - and I continue to split myself open. I love you so much that I can’t find room to love myself.

How much longer do I intend to drag this cross behind me? To stagger under the weight of how I feel about you? Every time I set it down, I pick it back up and my God, it n e v e r gets any lighter.

I never want to feel like this again. I never want to know love if I can’t love myself more than the person I love. My God, I loved you so much that I forgot to value myself and love myself. Now that you’re gone I have this empty hole where love opened me up and poured me out and what is love if not the thing that leaves you empty?

I’m so tired of hating myself, carrying this cross for you and nailing myself to it. I’m tired of tears. I’m frustrated and I’m miserable. I’m tired of constantly wanting to fix things and talk to you and find some kind of fucking closure that does not exist. I am so tired. I’m so tired.

And now I wait for this river to run dry.

Post is not a post, post is an attempt to write my frustration out so I can sleep. God, I just want to sleep. I want this river to run dry, my heart to harden and I want to sleep. I want this to be over. What is the lesson here? Can You please hurry up and teach me the lesson here so this class can be over? Please. Please. PLEASE.

Copying an entire post thread straight fromTumblr; food for thought

ands-hewaslike:

fr3ight-train:

acutelesbian:

fat-thin-skinny:

acutelesbian:

A lot of people ask me what my biggest fear is, or what scares me most. And I know they expect an answer like heights, or closed spaces, or people dressed like animals, but how do I tell them that when I was 17 I took a class called Relationships For Life and I learned that most people fall out of love for the same reasons they fell in it. That their lover’s once endearing stubbornness has now become refusal to compromise and their one track mind is now immaturity and their bad habits that you once adored is now money down the drain. Their spontaneity becomes reckless and irresponsible and their feet up on your dash is no longer sexy, just another distraction in your busy life.
Nothing saddens and scares me like the thought that I can become ugly to someone who once thought all the stars were in my eyes.

this fucks me up every single time

I never expected this to be my most popular poem out of the hundreds I’ve written. I was extremely bitter and sad when I wrote this and I left out the most beautiful part of that class.
After my teacher introduced us to this theory, she asked us, “is love a feeling? Or is it a choice?” We were all a bunch of teenagers. Naturally we said it was a feeling. She said that if we clung to that belief, we’d never have a lasting relationship of any sort.
She made us interview a dozen adults who were or had been married and we asked them about their marriages and why it lasted or why it failed. At the end, I asked every single person if love was an emotion or a choice.
Everybody said that it was a choice. It was a conscious commitment. It was something you choose to make work every day with a person who has chosen the same thing. They all said that at one point in their marriage, the “feeling of love” had vanished or faded and they weren’t happy. They said feelings are always changing and you cannot build something that will last on such a shaky foundation.
The married ones said that when things were bad, they chose to open the communication, chose to identify what broke and how to fix it, and chose to recreate something worth falling in love with.
The divorced ones said they chose to walk away.
Ever since that class, since that project, I never looked at relationships the same way. I understood why arranged marriages were successful. I discovered the difference in feelings and commitments. I’ve never gone for the person who makes my heart flutter or my head spin. I’ve chosen the people who were committed to choosing me, dedicated to finding something to adore even on the ugliest days.
I no longer fear the day someone who swore I was their universe can no longer see the stars in my eyes as long as they still choose to look until they find them again.

This is so fucking important and I think it’s something I needed right now

I remember when I first reblogged this, and this just gives such a crazy different perspective.

Oh how time flies

A year can change everything. In a year, I've gone from here to there to here again. A year ago we were in an undefined relationship, pretty crazy about each other (I guess, but I can't speak for you) and literally giving no fucks and living life.

Now, a year later, we tried the relationship and failed and just harbour terrible feelings towards each other for all the mean things we said and did when we were too hurt to care whose feelings we were hurting.

But this wasn't supposed to be a long post, or a negative post. My mood tonight is tentative. It's good but it's fragile. I was just thinking about how a year changed so many things. Maybe a year from now I will look back, not hating you or resenting you, and be in a really good place.

Maybe a year from now I'll be in love with myself and happily single. Oh, God, I hope that's where I am a year from now.

I'm home for the weekend because nothing is better than being around people who love you and support you and care about you in ways you need to be loved, supported and cared for. I've been fed curry chicken, tucked into bed, hugged and cuddled. I fell asleep on my brother's bed and he covered me with a comforter and left me to sleep for hours because apparently I'm wearing my problems on my face and carrying sorrows in the bags under my eyes. My mommy has taken away the little stack of textbooks and instructed that I use this weekend like a vacation and take care of myself first. My daddy is being more gentle than usual.

I agree. Maybe I need to spend more time taking care of myself.

I ain't got nothing but time, and that's okay.

Turning on the tap in my mind to run the thoughts til they run like water and go cold, and I can sleep.

An attempt to clear the thoughts out of my head so I'm not so heavy in my bed. 


Sometimes, like now, I miss our relationship a little. I miss the lazy Sunday mornings I spent falling in love with you like wishing on stars (my stars turned out to be airplanes and I wished on things that were always leaving) and the sleepy Saturday nights with our bodies stretched out in bed with the fan on. I miss car rides and long conversation. I miss icecream dates and late night phone conversations.

But then the longer I think about these things, the more the nostalgia fades and the memories crack. I've managed to turn them over and over in my hands until I've found the sharp corners, the things that unravel the dreams by the seams. All those memories soured by the impression of you that you've left me with. All the memories I had in colour are turning black and white, the greyscale of disappointment. Lazy Sunday mornings feel flimsy, sleepy Saturday nights hollow. The car rides and long conversation feel like fillers, stuffing and fluff. The icecream dates and late night conversations like punctuation in long sentences of blabber. Everything tastes like acid now.

I know that one day - maybe, hopefully not one day soon - I will love cuddling on Sunday mornings and watching movies on Saturday nights again. One day I will experience these things again in colour. I will eat all the icecream and have all the long conversations with someone new, someone that is not you. And this is the realisation that broke the mourning. I will move on from you, and quickly too. I will not linger where I am not wanted. I have grown too big for these memories of you, the you I loved. I fit awkwardly in the past. I have done so much growing in a week. I have grown and stretched. I no longer fit in my bed. Everything is spilling out of my head.

Thinking about you does not hurt. Missing you does not hurt. Seeing you does not hurt. Hearing your name does not hurt. It all just tastes like acid burning at the back of my throat. Everything has a sour taste of resentment. I tried so hard not to resent you, but now I submit fully to this like all the other stages I have gone through in a week and a half. I submit so it will pass. I will let my resentment colour you black and white. I will forget that once you were red and blue too. I have taken you off the pedestal. I accept that you will not be the boy in the greyscale memories anymore. You too do not fit in those memories. You have shrunk yourself down, squeezed yourself in a box, tucked yourself into a corner. I have let you. I am letting you.

I am working on forgiving you. Every morning I wake hoping I will stop gnashing my teeth at the sound of your name. I realise this has a lot more to do with me than it does with you - I held you to unrealistic expectations. I expected you to be kind, gentle, understanding, soft, full, honest, godlike. I held you to these things like knife to throat. I forgot to make room for you to be human. I forgot to make room for you to be human. I am working on forgiving myself, too. Forgiving myself is more important anyways. (And I hope I don't sound selfish, but I am selfish. I am more important to me than you are. Even if this wasn't always the case.)

I am also working on the bitterness. I still have moments when I hope you wander absently into those corners that you tucked me into, and that you regret some of the choices that you made. I hope sometimes I cross your mind and it makes you taste acid, too. I find myself passing your car and hoping you sometimes sit there and remember me on the backseat. I hope in your memories I am laughing. I hope while you remember me, and you regret, I am still laughing. I hope you miss the way I love you, sometimes, and I hope you struggle to find someone who loves you the way I did. I hope you sample ten thousand kinds of love looking for my taste again. I know this is all very childish, but I want to know that I meant something to you even though you pretend you are unfazed. I want to know that I can move you to regret, because I am human. But I am working on wishing you well, wishing you better.

I am surprisingly at peace with a number of things. I am at peace knowing that I did the best I could have. I no longer regret stripping myself to skin and insecurity for you. I am not sorry that my insecurities must have choked the life out of you. I know I tried, and that's enough. One day I'll find someone who will try too - and we will try together and never give up. I won't be perfect and they won't be perfect either, but it will be perfect enough. I am at peace with the end of our relationship. I am at peace with the thought that maybe we will never be anything to each other, ever again. I am at peace knowing there is probably nothing left for us to return to - not even friendship. I will not force anything, and that will be okay. I have run out of urges to message you. I have run out of things left to say to you. I don't feel like I owe you any more of my honesty. I don't even have to block you anymore. I don't have to hide your name, your number. It does not haunt me. I am at peace with the end.

Now, I am hopeful. I have lots of thoughts about the next few weeks, months, years. I have made so many plans. So many little things I look forward to. So much love around me. So many friends. So many adventures. So much me. I leave you behind and press hopefully on. I feel like I can take a great big bite of the world, by myself. I feel the healing and the growth starting in my bones. This will be better. I will be better.

It's 5:38 AM, and there is a lot going on in my head but it's all okay.

Therapy take 5, also unsure of what to title this

This post comes after some heavy ass reflection, and comes with a heavy dose of the resentment I'm trying to avoid. I want to ask him a lot of questions, but I won't. He is a dead end. He's the last place I have been able to find closure.

I am not mourning for or grieving over the relationship. Not really.

I would have been able to come to terms with his choice to end the relationship. I am not a child, and I don't think I am unreasonable. I know you can't force people to stay. I would have been able to accept his decision with a relative amount of peace.

But no, I am torn the fuck up not because of the end of a relationship but because the person I was in a relationship with has somehow managed to shock the fuck out of me. The person I was in a relationship with made me feel like shit while trying to end a dying relationship that I think really wasn't either of our faults more than it was both of our faults.

Ending a relationship is one thing.
Ending a relationship with hurt feelings that could have been avoided is another thing.

Now after a week and a half, I feel it really hard to believe that the person who claimed that they loved me could have broken up with me the way they did, and responded me the way they have since. I feel it hard to believe that that was done as considerately as possible.

Or is it that I didn't deserve consideration?
Was I THAT bad a girlfriend that it was totally irrelevant how I felt after ten months of a relationship? Was I THAT horrible a communicator, a person?

I want to ask what I did to deserve the ridiculously shitty way you treated me in the last week and a half (with the exception of the 48 hours in which you humoured me, which now feels like a slap in the face all things considered - as now I'm not sure how genuine any of that was) but I know that you will just read my message and not reply to my unproductive conversation.

And yes, yes, I remember you saying it was spur of the moment and blah blah and whatnot, but I feel like that is adding insult to injury. That is a flimsy excuse that means so very little. You acted like I had you cornered, backed up against the wall with no options. My insecurities must have been armed with guns and knives, driving a military grade tank. Our relationship must have been a prison. I must have been choking you.

I agree. Our relationship probably needed to end. Maybe it was so far as to be described as toxic. I am at peace with the fact that it has ended, but I can't seem to find peace in the way you acted towards me. I can't seem to understand why you are even still reacting the way you are acting towards me (with the most defensive responses to my messages as possible) - as if I have been hurting you this whole time and am continuing to hurt you. Why did you never tell me I was treating you like shit, if such was the case? Why did you never say that I was a horrible person, so that when you decided to treat me as such, I would properly understand that this was what I deserved?

Regardless, I'm not sure there is a relationship for us to return to - so I have stopped wanting that, even if just temporarily as I am being clouded by hurt and resentment. Maybe at some point in the future I will be overcome with nostalgia and I will miss all the great things about our relationship. I'm also not sure there is a friendship for us to return to either. I'm not sure there's anything left for us.

And that's okay. I'm just working on forgiving you and moving on with my life. Coming to terms with all the horrible things that I must have done, and your response. Vowing never to put myself in this position again. Thank you for that.

Today (and yesterday), I did not cry. I did not miss you any more than manageable. I just sat in my tub of hurt and resentment and thought about how you treated me. And how maybe you weren't the person I thought you were. That's all.

"Unscrew the locks from their doors. Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs."

It's the great thing about words that keeps me coming back - the way how everybody can interpret something differently. Everything means something different to someone else. This quote by Walt Whitman is no different.

The annotations on shmoop.com explain these two lines as follows: "These lines express Whitman's radicalism.... They are humorous because Whitman initially decides the best way to get through this metaphorical door is to unlock it (sounds reasonable), but then he says, oh, what the heck, and tears the entire door from its frame!"

Aside from at face value, this line meant to me that there are more than ways of getting through obstacles. Sometimes, you must simply tear the whole damn door out of the jamb.

Now I could unscrew the lock from the door (and go through the break up motions in my corner, taking up the least space possible) or I could simply rip the door itself from the jamb (and be as recklessly me as I always am). Which one do you think I've chosen?

I have denied no feeling. I have resisted no urge. I am submitting fully to the feelings until they pass (which sometimes blows up in my face, yes, okay, but still).

And that's probably why all the speculating outsiders have made it a point of duty to concern themselves with how thoroughly this all affects me (how emotional I am, blah blah) whilst my exboyfriend has seemingly been coping just fine. And understandably so - considering that this is what he wanted. Now, you see, I'm not really all that mad about the speculation, as people will always talk - I'm just a little mad that maybe they're right. I'm beginning to think the same things as they all are.

At first this breakup seemed a little like we were both really upset and hurting and torn up, blah blah. We both seemed to be clinging and blah blah. But that "at first" seemed to last about 48 hours. And now that I look back, I'm a moron.

The first few hours post breakup, exboyfriend who I shall refer to from henceforth as X (okay, yes, I think I'm funny) did a couple things that made me look (and feel, don't forget feel) like an ass. Not easy being broken up with on WhatsApp with no explanation, but then to walk past and overhear people casually discussing their negative impressions and feelings about you in public and very loudly? Not a nice feeling. Aaaaand it never quite helped that the response to this from X was very dismissively "Oh we were leaving and I have no inside voice blah blah" which made me feel worse. Overall, it kinda seemed like X was being a jerk. An unfazed, insensitive, unempathetic (is that a word? It just seemed like the opposite of empathetic was most appropriate and empathy is an ability or capacity to relate to the feelings of another) jerk.

Then I made a number of excuses for that night and decided I wanted to move along and not hate or resent him blah blah, and whatnot. He seemed fair enough after that and that was good enough for me, who still had him up on a pedestal (and possibly still do).

Then I went through a number of crazy irrational and crazy imbalanced fits of sending him irrational messages, deleting photos and then undeleting photos, so on and so forth. And looking back at those WhatsApp conversations made me feel like an idiot, every single time.... because I was all over the place. And he was his usual brick wall self. Replies like "Ahh" and the infamous X long wait, blue tick, no reply. Lovely. There I go making an ass out of myself again.

Now I realise that I was very wrong. And that sometimes when people show you that they do not care (or when it would appear as such), you should stop putting your vulnerability on display and go ahead and bottle that shit back up and let it rot on the inside until it goes away/kills you.

Anyways. People may continue to speculate. I am torn up and emotional and going through the motions. I am trying to make sense of this. Trying to cope. But I will now try to cope in ways that don't make me out to be the crazy ex-girlfriend that bursts into tears at the mention of his name (which never happened, hmph - I'm most offended that people think that this is how bad it is) and continue to unscrew the doors from the jambs until I can care as little as he seems to.

I will now return to watching Paper Towns (from which this quote used as the title came) and eating a soggy leftover half of a spicy Zinger from KFC. I will also not expect a reply to that WhatsApp conversation in which X assumed I was attacking him (which I wasn't) that I started because my first instinct is obviously to turn to X because he was, is, whatever the person I tried hardest to work things out with. I will also try to not breed resentment, which is becoming harder and harder the more I overthink.

Post has not been proofread, probably makes no sense and is all over the place. As usual.

Reminders to myself, another sloppy attempt to swim and not sink

Forgive me, for I like to write with numbers and in lists. I'm obsessive. This will not be proofread, like the others in this series of sessions of therapy. Errors are part of the journey.

Update: a week-ish since breakup. I have not cried today.



Dearest, as darkness draws you close and you slip beneath its surface and water slips into your nose and mouth, cling to these things and rise. Rise until breathing is easy. Rise until it doesn't hurt anymore. Rise, and rise, and rise again. 

One

Remember that they will not be him, no matter how hands feel like hands in the dark. They will not sound like him, smile like him or make you feel like him. Do not try to use them to replace him. They are not his understudies in your show.

Do not try to find someone else to fill the space where he used to be until you are ready, and until you can appreciate this new whoever for all that they are. That is not fair to them, or fair to you.

Be smart.

Do not rebound.

And if you slip up, please do not choose to ruin the new friendship with this boy. You will regret it. He is an amazing friend, who is helping you cope as best he can. Do not use him.

Two

"Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck."

The Universe operates in mysterious ways, and God... You see, God doesn't make mistakes. There are forces that you must believe that operate on your behalf to protect you from the things that mean you ruin. Read, and reread THEORIES ABOUT THE UNIVERSE by Blythe Baird.

"I am trying to see things in perspective.My dog wants a bite of my peanut butter
chocolate chip bagel. I know she cannot
have this, because chocolate makes dogs
very sick. My dog does not understand this.
She pouts and wraps herself around my leg
like a scarf and purrs and tries to convince me
to give her just a tiny bit. When I do not give in,she eventually gives up and lays in the corner,
under the piano, drooping and sad. I hope the
universe has my best interest in mind like I have
my dogs. When I want something with my whole
being, and the universe withholds it from me,
I hope the universe thinks to herself: “Silly girl.
She thinks this is what she wants, but she
does not understand how it will hurt."

Perhaps this is the universe protecting me from ruin. 

And oh, how love ruins women.

Three

Remember that he is human. He is not a god and you are not a monster. Take him down from the pedestal that you put him on. See that he, too, has flaws. There are things you will not miss. 

He was great, in some ways, and not so great, in others. You don't have to keep idolising him. You may now acknowledge that there are ways in which he was flawed. You may now acknowledge that he did things that hurt you, especially in the last week and a half - and you must now stop making excuses for them, and forgive him.

Forgive him for the things, even if he is not sorry for the things. Forgive him. Work on forgetting, not so he can have a second (third? fourth? how are we counting these?) chance but so that you can have a second chance. Don't hold on to the ways he hurt you in an attempt to fuel your recovery. Let them go. Let him go. 

You can now break the silence wide open and fill it with words and laughter and love. You can tear the bricks out of the wall. Word by word, you may now heal. Answer the questions for yourself. Stop expecting the words from anyone but yourself. You may now uninvest your tears in someone else's silences. Stop unblocking him and turning to him for closure, and close the chapter yourself. Be okay with never speaking to him again. Remind yourself that he doesn't seem to have anything left to say to you. (Also, as a bitter aside: stop rereading that stupid Whatsapp conversation and delete the fucking chat. Delete his number again. Block him. Do not keep digging for meaning in the meaningless words he uses. "Why would I not reply?" followed by no reply is just another meaningless conversation. You will not find closure standing in front of a brick wall.)

May the next person you love be generous with words. May the next one know that it is okay to say the words that perhaps may hurt, with the knowledge that there is a balance - as words hurt so too do words heal. May the next one never hold back either of both. 

Four

Drinking, though a quick fix, will not help you heal. Do not clutch at bottles for salvation. Find healthy ways to cope with your pain. Pain, too, is a blessing. Do not seek numbness. Do not prolong the suffering by wishing it away. Instead, go through your motions until the feeling passes. Be present in all moments and learn fully from each and every one. Let them teach you, change you and shape you. This is all a part of your story. All a part of your journey. Do not skim through the pages and except to gather meaning.

Spend time with your friends - they are great friends. You have fewer than you possibly ever had, but you have more than enough. They are each far more valuable than any friend you have lost. They have been an incredible support group. Do not push them away. 

Now, in particular, people will emerge from the molding and be there for you in ways which will surprise you. Let them be there for you. Let them comfort you. Remember. Return the favour. 

Be with your family, as often and in as many meaningful ways as you can. Call your mother. Call your father. Call your brothers. Call your grandparents. Remember that there are people who will love you unconditionally, and will not decide to quit on you via a whatsapp one-liner. These relationships are perennial; choose these over the ephemeral. Be present. 

Five

You are enough. You were Queen before him, and you shall be continue to be Queen after him. You have enough to rule without him. You can be Queen of your own lands, without needing him by your side. Be Queen enough to not need a King (or a joker pretending to be a King, but no shade). 

Do not question your worth. 

You may be as bad at communication as he says you are, among other flaws you no doubt possess. You may have done a lot of things wrong.

But you, you are human. 

You are flawed, but you are not unworthy of love.

You are also amazing, beautiful, smart, funny, thoughtful, loving. 

You are worthy of love. 

Do not forget.

Six

This too shall pass.

For nothing lasts forever, and life is short. 

You will not suffer forever. 

In the end, it will be okay. 

Therapy take two

Tentative title. Another attempt at therapy. I will heal, even if it is the last thing I do. I have decided to dedicate to healing. In the same way I decided to love you in that way that writers do - with too much drama, too little denouement. I have decided to let go, opening one finger at a time and turning my palms upwards. I will heal and receive. And this is the way I will go about it. I will write you into the past until I will only be able to find you scratched into yellowed pages with faded ink, nostalgia my friend and a heart that is whole.


This is not my choice. This is your choice. This is the option you left me with.


I am stripping myself down, layer by layer. I am laying myself bare. I am writing naked. This must be some kind of poetic justice, I suppose. Writing naked. Just like I let you see me.

I stripped myself bare, crawled out of my clothes and laid myself before you, in nothing but skin and insecurities. I loved you naked, the way I used to love my words naked. The way I try to love my words naked again. I loved you like a good poem.

And you loved me like a good past-time.


Two hundred and ninety eight days a relationship.

Two hundred and ninety eight days.

Two hundred and ninety eight reasons to be torn up.

Two hundred and ninety eight fractured memories.

Two hundred and ninety eight hollow feelings in my stomach.


I try not to regret. I do not want two hundred and ninety eight regrets. 


But, maybe, just maybe, we should have stayed convenient fuck buddies. You should have used my body and left my heart alone. I should have never gotten attached. I should have left room for the inevitable - left room to wiggle out when the earth caved in on me. I should have left you alone - me, with the reverse Midas touch; you, our relationship... maybe merely fools gold... and so me, the fool - and not turned everything to shit.


Today, one of my greatest friends taught me an important lesson with her experience - and her blogpost - today. The lesson was that some people are roots, and some are branches. The roots take hold and stick around during the rain and the snow. The branches, and the leaves, linger through the spring and the summer and are gone when it gets rough. Do you know the leaves from the roots? I didn't. But now, now I do. I know about leaves.

Forgive the cheesy play on words.

People leave.

But sometimes they don't just leave. Sometimes they quit. Sometimes they quit when you still have fight left in you. Sometimes they leave a mess behind.

I am the mess you left behind.


I am naked. And writing. I am learning to lay myself bare for myself alone. I am stripping out of my insecurities, and even my skin. I will shed this skin that you have owned for two hundred and ninety eight days, touched for three hundred and eighty two days, claimed and stained three hundred and fifty three days ago. This skin must forget three hundred and eighty nine days and counting - since this skin decided to welcome you back.

This skin has one thousand, six hundred and eighty two days of you. Or four years, seven months, one week and one day of you.

Do the math.

This skin, you will realise, has much to strip.

Count the pieces of me that I have left behind. Left with you. Cannot collect in a box at your door, with teary goodbyes and begging to be loved again.

I will not give myself again to love that opens me up and empties me out. I will hold out for the love that opens me up without emptying me out - if such a love exists.

I am naked, empty, still writing.

Naked, empty, writing and making no sense. I chose you over my words, and now they refuse to be taken back.

And you, you will not take me back.

And I, I will stop wanting you to take me back.


I will shed this skin. I will be naked. I will strip you from my skin and stop smelling you, tasting you and remembering you. I will write until my fingers bleed and my heart heals. You had no fight left, and me, I will redirect my fight and fight for myself.


Naked. Empty. Writing.

Naked. Empty. Writing.

There are some dark places that you will always return to, like homes that hide in your bones and

I've returned to this blog. I've returned to writing.

Fitting, considering I started this blog to channel a lot of post-breakup energy and get rid of those pent-up negative emotions to find some kind of closure. Fitting because since starting this blog about three years ago, with the intention of writing about breakup with boyfriend, I have gotten back together with said boyfriend and broken up with said boyfriend again.

So the prodigal son is back, and broken.

Except the prodigal son is no longer 16 and full of resentment and rage. There is no excess bitterness to mask my hurt and fuel my glo up. There's just hurt and more hurt. Fuck.

I wish, oh I wish, I could hate him with every ounce of rage in my body. Or, I wish the sky would split open and swallow me. Most, I just wish I could go back and do this over and not fuck it up. Cause, God, I fucked up the best fucking thing I had going for me. I think I deserve a round of applause for this. An ironic round of applause, at least.

Whatever.

It is day six since breakup, I think. I am not sure. Days since have been spent waking up, rolling over, looking miserably at phone, unblocking and reblocking exboyfriend, bawling, trying to sleep, ignoring the knocking at my door (except best friend K who has spare key to my room and knocks twice before letting herself in to sit at the foot of bed and try to offer encouragement and check if I have eaten - most of the time, I don't answer so I don't have to lie), crawling miserably to shower, spending a few hours in the library pretending not to want to die, returning to bed, repeat.

Mornings, by far, are the worst. I dread waking up so much that I've slipped into a place I used to frequent and don't want to visit anymore. I've started to think things like "I just don't want to wake up." Over a breakup? All the healing I've done to be dissolved with a breakup?

How long is this stage supposed to last again? Days? Weeks?

I don't have days, much less weeks. My exams are in less than a month. I need to crawl out of this hole and into the frame of mind to not fuck my exams up royally. If I don't get out of this place with a degree, how will I ever be able to run away from this town where everybody is in everybody's business? I want the degree to fold into a paper plane and soar to the farthest corner of the world I can think of--Australia, New Zealand, India?

God, are you listening? What do I do now? How do I get the closure I want, the closure the need? Is blocking him the answer? How I prevent this hurt from ever happening again? How do I learn from this? Will there be a day when we just aren't in each other's lives?

All these questions and none of the words to pray it out. Only tears. But my mother is convinced that tears are the language of the broken, and God speaks the language of the broken too. Psalms 147:3: "He heals the broken-hearted and binds up their wounds." So, God, I give you my wounds. I give you the broken-bottle shards of a love that smashed wide open and spilled out and almost drowned me. I give you the empty parts of me. I give you all the insecurities, and the pain. I give you the wondering and the torment.

At this point, I don't know if I want to give this love thing another try. I don't want to put myself out there for somebody to have enough power over me to hurt me again. Never again will I choose a love that will not last. So help me God, may I never find this kind of love again.

I'm trying to focus on healing. Moving forward. Avoiding reckless behaviour patterns that I am notorious for with my careless ass - things like rebounding, or drunk calls/texts, dabbling with the past, torturing myself. Spending time with my friends and my family. Talking to my mommy. Glo-ing up. Things that will help speed up the healing.

But I'm still only feeling. Feeling pain, feeling hurt, feeling like shit.

And so I will write, write until the feeling passes.
"The worst thing to happen to an artist or a writer is love. It makes you comfortable, hinders your art, slows you down, distracts you. The best thing to happen is pain."
Here we go, again.

"@scottiewaves: If you met the younger you, what advice would you give. . ."

• Drink water. Drink lots of water.
• Don't cut your hair. You think you won't miss it, but every time you do, you spend months growing it out and getting frustrated. It's just easier, trust me.
• Have more fun. It won't kill you, your parents won't mind and you'll regret it when you're graduating high school. 
• Skip the rebellion phase. Really. You don't like parties, you don't like staying out late with people you don't like and you really don't want to spend all that time drinking.
• Read more obscure books. It will take you three years to read seven and a half chapters of Sophie's World, and you might appreciate starting a little earlier.
• Write more. Write way more. You'll hate it all, but you'll be better for it.
• Spend more Thursday afternoons in the couch with your grandpa. There will be Thursdays when the couch is empty and you will miss him so much more than you can ever imagine. 
• Visit your grandparents as often as you can. 
• Pick your friends wisely. If they make you feel like shit then that's the easiest way to know they need to go. You won't need them - you'll realise that fewer, more valuable friendships will be more satisfying. You'll be nineteen with barely enough friends to count on both hands and you will be happy. Believe it or not.
• Don't be bitter. Your parents do what they think is best for you, and they will be two of the few people who will love you unconditionally (even when you cut your hair, pierce your ear, ignore their calls for three weeks, sneak the car out at eleven p.m. and come home at three a.m, spend all your money on things you can't eat and fail three courses). 
• Don't worry about whether or not you're straight. You'll be 19 and there will be fifty different ways to say what you like, and it won't even matter. You'll be okay (even if maybe you like girls).
• You will love, and love again. The love will be better the second time around, believe it or not.
• Communicate better. 
• There will be many days when you will be lonely, anxious, depressed or angry. It's okay to spend these days coping however best you can. It's okay to spend the entire day in bed. Don't worry.
• Don't be afraid to show affection. 
• Don't bottle shit up. Those bottles will fill up, and flow over and make a huge mess everywhere. (You will be 19, and still not know how to not do this.)
• It's okay to let go sometimes. If it's meant for you, it'll come back somehow. Life is funny like that.
• Cry when it hurts. And laugh when it doesn't. Submit fully to the things you feel and don't be afraid. You are a warrior and a woman, and these things make you a stronger both. 
• Do nice things for other people. It just feels good. 
• It's the little things. Not the big ones. You'll understand. 
• Nothing you plan for the future will happen. And that will be okay. Trust God. The future will be fine, anyways. Better than you imagine, sometimes.
• You will love him, and he will hurt you, and you will hurt him.... but you will love him all the same. It is possible. You'll see. Sometimes love is holding hands all the way through hell until you reach heaven (and knowing that both are temporary). 
• Things end. That's okay.

Being 19 is scary, amazing and sometimes really confusing. Just like being any other age. Remember you are constantly growing and changing and shifting and the spaces you once drowned in will be too small. This is all okay. Everything is okay. Trust God, whatever you conceive him to be.

Hundreds of thousands of generations later,

God still punishes Eve.

            You, woman of his rib, you are doomed to love this man--
                        Destined to crave to return to that place, to that origin, to that love.
                                    You, his side, always.

He, hollow chest, empty where you are full
Love spilling over and into saucer from cup
Bleeding that love for him, redder than juice of berry and
            sweeter than forbidden fruit.

And still, you—you are not enough.

You wanted fruit.

He wanted more.
            More than you, more than this love, more than this flesh offered to him
            Laid bare upon the earth, naked flesh
            Beating, breathing, living sacrifice is not enough.

You should not have eaten the flesh of the fruit
But since, he has consumed the sweeter flesh yet—
And your love far easier obtained.
Sweeter still he seeks.

You just wanted to seduce his hedonism;
                        please this man
            Come, eat, share with me.
            And you, punished twice for sharing.

You, Eve
God has given you shame
And dress to cover your shame
And pain to know that it is not enough to be sorry

                        Nor is it enough to be in love. 

k.j.

On dating a Med Student (or On Being a MedLaw Power Couple, Ironically Titled)

Haven't decided if this is a freeverse, a prose poem or.... well, anything really. But here goes. Dedicated to my favourite med student, who was my favourite before he became a med student too. 


Seventy and 
      don't date a med student because they will forget the date of your anniversary but
You remember how many times my heart beats a minute.
lub dub, lub dub

The human heart is roughly the size of a f i s t 
      but you're the lover, I'm the fighter so maybe
Yours is the open palm and mine is the tight clench.
lub dub, lub dub

All the vessels in our bodies, end-to-end, would circle the earth four times
      and sometimes I think I'd like to see the whole world with you;
But laying in bed with you on a Sunday morning is almost enough adventure for the week.
lub dub, lub dub

The heart can beat independently of the body, since it has its own electrical impulse
      but separated from you and I start to tick a little slower
Like clock counterclockwise tick-tock.
lub dub, lub dub

Allegedly, two heartbeats in close proximity will begin to mimic each other 
      I pick up your habits like the scattered socks on your floor (we've started to sound like)
My heart answers yours like a phone call.
lub dub, lub dub

And then you kiss me; here, there, everywhere
      I miss a heartbeat.
You, always you.
lub-... lub dub.


Don't date a medical student because they will forget the date of your anniversary, but remember how many times your heart beats a minute and I don't know how that somehow ended up being romantic.

A few of my favourite things

Blankets and nude nail polish and knob earrings and shoes with bows and polka dots and purple and donuts with sprinkles and gummy bears and hugs when you're sad and playing outside after it rains and cuddles when you're sleepy and how Popsicles cool you down on a hot day and when your friends make you laugh til your sides hurt and late night walks and doing well on tests you barely studied for and being understood and a good poem and a nice book and bubble baths and how you make me feel.