I do know what true love is. And I rest comfortably knowing that no matter how this works out… I will always look back on this time with full confidence in it’s authenticity. It’s warm, pure, reality. Good and bad, this is love. Passionate and blandly comfortable, all of these moments are mine, and the making of a life worth living.
He makes me face my discomforts, my urge to run away from problems. And he is always worth it. Yes, this is love.
I really miss…… So many things.
I can’t seem to figure out these feelings.
I often wonder if it would be a burden to share pain.
Since Christmas, especially, there have been these bouts filled with a memory that feels like it’s ripping me in half.
And it’s like, all of this pain, this anger over this episode, this memory.. I feel like I can’t trust myself. Because when I remember it… It is so unreal, so ridiculous, that sometimes I wonder if I’m remembering it all wrong, if my mind has somehow made it up. And I keep chewing it over and over, and it makes me feel sick.
But then I remember why I knew what happened was all wrong. Why this person in my life… I was in counseling for it at the time. Because it wasn’t the first fucking time. They taught me what was wrong. They taught me how to say no. They never said it could be… That person.
So it feels very wrong. Like I’ve made it up, because I know that if I hadn’t been taught I wouldn’t have known it was wrong. So I didn’t say anything. How could I have?
And now everytime I see this person, or hear him, there is this deep revulsion in me. Because of everything else in this “relationship” with this person is so estranged.
But after Christmas, watching him laugh, noticing over and over again how much privelage he has in our life.
I feel like I’m being ripped apart. I cannot figure out if this is fucking… real. I’m so good at letting go. I just want to forget, but… This person just gets to… be there?
I feel like a liar. I feel so rotten. Like it can’t be real. But why can’t I just forget it? Why can’t I just let it go? I keep telling myself it wasn’t even that bad. That maybe I did make it up. What does that make me? And my mind just hurts, it hurts to keep going over it.
And he knew! God he knew what happened to me before. I don’t understand.
Is it fair. To speak about this. I don’t want to make waves. I don’t want drama. I just don’t want to have to .. feel like this.
But without it there is that doubt.
It’s strange the things that can make you suddenly small and… How to describe it? Like you’re made of glass, fragile and with sharp edges, and you’re just covered in these spidery cracks. It’s like you’re on the edge of that table and you don’t know why..
But I’m addicted to this feeling. I can’t decide if it’s a hormonal swing of despair and wistfulness, or my mind playing things back, keeping things in check and reminding me to ask, “why?”
But it doesn’t really pay to stay stuck in the past. I’ve gotten good at letting things go.
And then there are these times where I get overwhelmed, all over again. I miss my friends so much I feel like I could die. Like-I wonder why I always lose them. I know people grow apart. But growing up I think I always attached myself to friends, since I.. Why does the past creep up on us?
For me, I guess, sometimes that pain is so sweet, so bitter and dark and easy to return to. It’s the drink that fills up that fracturing glass. It’s the pressure against that fragile barrier.
I should probably give up my long-time habit of making metaphors for pain. Foolish