a confession:

what scares me is not
that i may never love again. 
but that i may love too deeply 
someone who does not 
return my affection.

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for wearing a heart on your sleeve does not make you a coward. rather, it signifies our soul felt desire to be wanted. my biggest fear is i will instill this trust in place it will never grow. or where it struggles to bloom under the chill of an unreciprocated sun.

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the solemn truth about heartbreak

CW: alcohol, disordered eating, language 

I didn’t believe anyone when they said heartbreak truly hurts–a physical ache you feel in your bones. But I do now. I believe every word of it. 

As I was sobbing in my friends car at 2:30am, she told me to write it all out. So, here I am, laying in the bed I haven’t bothered to put sheets on because I haven’t had the emotional or physical energy to do laundry of any kind, in my room with clothes everywhere because I cannot get up the will to clean, writing about a brain that is so chaotic that it has exploded into my surroundings. Because what they don’t tell you about heartbreak is it is debilitating. 

When you feel utterly broken inside, how do you find the will to get out of bed, let alone put away clothes, or dishes, or match your fucking socks? How do you shower and dress and feed yourself? 

But most of all: how the actual fuck do you appear to be okay?

I repeat “it’s okay not to be okay” in my head, constantly. But it’s not working. It’s okay not to be okay doesn’t mean a damn thing when your world is crumbling around you. It doesn’t mean a damn thing as you start to inhale the dust from the rubble. It doesn’t mean a damn thing when you look around, coughing, and realize all you knew is no where to be found. 

They don’t teach you how to deal with heartbreak in treatment. They don’t teach you how to “be okay” after you break into so many pieces. Because in treatment, the enemy was visible–the eating disorder–but in this, it’s yourself. 

You don’t learn how much you will lose until you do. And you don’t realize how final and crushing it feels until it’s upon you. And you don’t feel all the regret and the despair and the massive desire to reverse it all until it’s too late. 

You don’t learn you will eat because you feel so emotional you cannot help it (even if you are in recovery from anorexia). You don’t learn you actually don’t give a fuck how much you eat because you just want some kind of comfort and if that pint of ice cream is going to give it to you, then you will eat that whole damn thing. You don’t learn that alcohol makes it all worse and you are bound to cry even more. You don’t learn that you will undoubtably look for comfort in all the wrong places–especially when you are intoxicated. 

No one tells you how much you will miss the warmth and comfort of another person with you at night. No one tells you that you will cry when you see anything that reminds you of the past. No one tells you that you will feel utterly empty inside. 

And absolutely no one talks about how you have to respect that perhaps you realized you want something different than the other person. That it was a mistake. That you cannot live with this pain. But that you have to anyway, because a relationship only works if both people agree. 

So you sob in a car, and you get social anxiety at parties, and you reach out to people you know will only hurt you more, and you crave a feeling of safety, or being wanted, when it feels like you will never be whole again. You make a fool of yourself and hate yourself and feel the last parts of your strength dip down to dangerously low levels. You don’t sleep or you sleep too much. You cannot concentrate and you stare at screens, pages, people… blankly. You constantly drift in and out of believing your heartbreak is real. 

And it all feels like your fault. 

why is it 

that when the story ends

we begin to feel all of it 

Rupi Kaur 

Untitled

you pull on heart strands

thinking i dont feel pangs

assuming they snap back smoothly

a rubber band suspended by tension

hearts dont work with spaghetti strings

 

you wonder why i dont feel joy

why my smile lacks heat of a

thousand candles

stars vacant from my eyes

blackholes enveloping any warmth

i stare back at you

 

do you need to ask

you already know

you are slowly poisoning me

from the inside out

 

 

 

tripping on stars

Have you ever been star tripping?

You look up and spin around in circles and get dizzy and fall down and get your composure and do it all over again. DSC_0090

But you do it because it is fun. You do it because it is beautiful. You do it because it is captivating and unique and changing.

Sometimes you fall down and it takes a bit longer to get up. Maybe you spun around a bit too much and the dizziness overwhelms you. You might scrape your knee or bump into something. So you take a bit longer to pick yourself up and start spinning again–head held high, looking up.

There is nothing wrong with falling. It’s part of the experience.

That is kind of the most wonderful part of it. You never know what is going to happen. You laugh and smile and openly accept that you cannot control where you fall or when. But you know that you do get to pick when you stand back up and how you hold yourself and move on.

You know what’s neat about star tripping? It’s a lot like life.

a break-up letter

Dear Ed,

It’s been a long haul. We’ve been through a lot together. But it’s over now. I’d say “it’s not you, it’s me,” but that isn’t true. It’s all you. You served a purpose for a while, you gave me a sense of control and safety-albeit incorrectly- but I don’t need you anymore. I don’t want you anymore.

I want life and love and laughter. I want adventures. I want smiles and spontaneity. I want health and happiness.

I want cake and chocolate. I want fast food on busy days and comfort meals on rainy, cold nights. I want to eat candy and popcorn at movies. I want to listen to cravings and eat to my desires. I want foreign foods and the chance to try new foods. I want to go out to a restaurant and have the full course meal.

I want to look in the mirror and accept what I see. I want to see myself for who I am as a person and not how my clothes fit or what I weigh. I want to meet new people and not think about how I look to them. I want to go on trips and learn new things and be able to feel the wind on my face on the top of a mountain. I want to run for fun and enjoy movement because it makes me feel good inside.

I want to be me, authentically. I want to discover who I am and fill the spot in my soul you take up with gold. I want to breathe in freedom and exhale rigidity. I want flexibility and variety.

Ed, I want life. And you do not bring me life. You do not bring me any of the things I want above. You hinder me. You hold me down. You tell me I am less than I am.  You abuse me and manipulate me and take me away from my dreams.

We don’t work. We never will again. It’s over. We’re done.