When I was 25, I had been married 5 years, had a 2 year old and an infant. I thought I had my life figured out. I thought I knew who I was and where I was going. I married the love of my life. I was in love beyond imagination. At 25, I had been in love with this man for 10 years already. At current age, I have been in love with this man half my life. Well, I would have been if I were still in love with him.
I didn't just wake up one day and fall out of love. I had the love drained from me, slowly and painfully. One day, in August 2008, I was lying in bed with him, listening to how much he just realized that he loved me... Although it wasn't really me, not the me that was in existence in that bed with him. He was in love with the idea of me that he created in his head. He was in love with the me he dated in high school. That was what he was reminiscing about; that was what he loved.
At that point, right in the middle of that conversation, I heard in my head and felt in my heart a "pop" that would change my life forever. That one day, that pop sound I heard, was simply the last of the love draining out of my heart. It isn't like I married the wrong person and we simply grew apart. He, as literally as possible, drained and emotionally beat the love out of me. It is unfathomable to think about even though I experienced it. I would rather have been physically beaten than to endure what I endured. I would rather have physical bruises and scars that I could show people, that even I could see for myself.
Instead, I have apparently become some sort of strange hybrid between an emotional vampire, desperately trying to suck back into me all that has been taken, and an emotional rapist, uncontrollably shoving my emotions into someone who isn't interested in them. I'm aware. I know I do it. I try desperately not to. And I am completely unsuccessful. It is misery to know how ferociously I do it and how I cannot figure out how to control it.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Head and Heart
What do you do when your head and your heart are disconnected? I know, in my head, that I am not loved in return, but my heart wants so badly for that to not be so. I know, in my head, that this relationship is certain to break my heart and my spirit. It has already done both to certain extents at different times. I know, in my head, that staying in this relationship is not a good choice for me. I know, in my head, that I will never have what I want from him. And I know, in my head, that he is exactly like what I just left, he is the familiar, and he is yet another, in a long line, of the type I always seem to find - the type that, somehow, I think needs to be saved. Now, I know, in my head, that none of these men that I love can be saved by me, and more importantly, they don't want to be saved, and they don't want me.
What do I do when my heart and my head do not communicate properly? I feel, in my heart, compassion and love and pain at once, and my head is not on board with what my heart will accept. I feel, in my heart, a desire to hold and be held by someone in whose arms I feel true comfort. I found that, and I will lose that soon enough, and that is true fear. I feel, in my heart, that I am a good person for him. I feel, in my heart, that he will never see that in me. And I feel, in my heart, that he will continue to be exactly what I don't need because that is the kind of person he is, and that is the kind of person he has built himself to be, and that is what he will be, no matter the cost to himself or others. Now, I feel, in my heart of hearts, that love is a gift that I continuously tie with expectations that cannot ever be met by him.
What do I do when my heart and my head do not communicate properly? I feel, in my heart, compassion and love and pain at once, and my head is not on board with what my heart will accept. I feel, in my heart, a desire to hold and be held by someone in whose arms I feel true comfort. I found that, and I will lose that soon enough, and that is true fear. I feel, in my heart, that I am a good person for him. I feel, in my heart, that he will never see that in me. And I feel, in my heart, that he will continue to be exactly what I don't need because that is the kind of person he is, and that is the kind of person he has built himself to be, and that is what he will be, no matter the cost to himself or others. Now, I feel, in my heart of hearts, that love is a gift that I continuously tie with expectations that cannot ever be met by him.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
White Lies - 10thDoM Fear In Shattered Color
Blink and you'll miss. It's a dull grey thud. The slow motion, stop-animation, out of left field blow right into the heart. It's an unfortunate reality, the heart-breaking whiplash and shattering sounds of unrequited love.
You are my worst fear. You are him all over again, and I can't seem to pull myself away. You are pushing me away, and I hate you for it. I hate the way you have deep red power over me. I hate the way you know it and how you use it.
Look at your hands. Are they rusty and blood-stained yet? You wouldn't be able to hear the ear-piercing shatter and scream inside me anyhow. It's a good thing that I'm too naive to know I should shut you out, afraid of losing you.
I'm always in fear. But I don't know how to close up shop, not say what I feel, what I mean. I am not in control of myself, my emotional reactions. I cannot control the blue tears, no matter how much I try. There's little I truly control.
You've gone away. I'm feeling abandoned here in the home you vacillate between claiming and shunning. It's torture to call you but worse not hearing your voice. It's a constant sadness to hear your yellow-bellied coward tone.
I'm not in control. You're sleeping flesh-tone naked in someone else's bed. I'm tired of all the tug-of-war. I'm tired of your vacillation. I'm tired of you acting on what you think you should be instead of what you are. I'm tired of it all.
Figure it out. Decide what you want, and be sure. Don't call me your girlfriend and then retract, don't act like you're my boyfriend and then run away. Quit being a newly green child. Quit being unsure. Quit breaking my heart.
You're either in or out. I'm willing to let you be my worst fear, falling in love, and having to walk away in the end. I'm willing to shatter into pieces over you later to have you now. Your shade is dulling though. Viole(n)t colors fade.
It's a disappointment. The friend I thought you were turns into the black-hearted enemy I didn't need again. I thought a deep friendship foraged over the months when you were miles away would save me from your other you.
Actions are telling. I'm hanging onto disaster, living the dreams of my worst fears. I keep fighting to stay when I should walk away. I'm craving the white knight you said you were instead of the white lies I now know you to be.
You are my worst fear. You are him all over again, and I can't seem to pull myself away. You are pushing me away, and I hate you for it. I hate the way you have deep red power over me. I hate the way you know it and how you use it.
Look at your hands. Are they rusty and blood-stained yet? You wouldn't be able to hear the ear-piercing shatter and scream inside me anyhow. It's a good thing that I'm too naive to know I should shut you out, afraid of losing you.
I'm always in fear. But I don't know how to close up shop, not say what I feel, what I mean. I am not in control of myself, my emotional reactions. I cannot control the blue tears, no matter how much I try. There's little I truly control.
You've gone away. I'm feeling abandoned here in the home you vacillate between claiming and shunning. It's torture to call you but worse not hearing your voice. It's a constant sadness to hear your yellow-bellied coward tone.
I'm not in control. You're sleeping flesh-tone naked in someone else's bed. I'm tired of all the tug-of-war. I'm tired of your vacillation. I'm tired of you acting on what you think you should be instead of what you are. I'm tired of it all.
Figure it out. Decide what you want, and be sure. Don't call me your girlfriend and then retract, don't act like you're my boyfriend and then run away. Quit being a newly green child. Quit being unsure. Quit breaking my heart.
You're either in or out. I'm willing to let you be my worst fear, falling in love, and having to walk away in the end. I'm willing to shatter into pieces over you later to have you now. Your shade is dulling though. Viole(n)t colors fade.
It's a disappointment. The friend I thought you were turns into the black-hearted enemy I didn't need again. I thought a deep friendship foraged over the months when you were miles away would save me from your other you.
Actions are telling. I'm hanging onto disaster, living the dreams of my worst fears. I keep fighting to stay when I should walk away. I'm craving the white knight you said you were instead of the white lies I now know you to be.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Broken Soul - 10thDoM Threshold
As he carried me over the threshold on our honeymoon, he told me he didn't love me. I should've listened then. For ten years, I have endured that lack of love, and now I am living in the Hell that I didn't want for myself or my children. I am living the life I didn't believe would happen to me. I am broken into a million little pieces.
It all started when I was fifteen. I fell in love. It was such an intense love that when he broke my heart in a malicious and disgusting way, I erased his behavior from my mind and vowed that if he ever came back into my life, I would drop everything and move anywhere and do whatever it took to be with him. And that's what I did.
It was my fault. I was bored, and I wondered how his life was going. It had been nearly 5 years since he'd broken my heart, but he was still deeply embedded in there. I made the phone call that changed my life. Within 2 weeks of that phone call, we were engaged. I was 20 years old. He treated me like gold, and I loved him beyond all else.
Six months later, we were married in a beautiful garden ceremony, and coming from two disturbingly broken homes, we were the poster children for success and change. And we have failed. On our honeymoon, he told me he didn't love me. And I didn't believe him because it was said in an angry moment. Sometimes angry moments yield deep truths.
Ten years, two amazing children, and an irreversibly broken soul later, those words ring truer in my ears and in my heart than ever before. I should've heard him the first time.
It all started when I was fifteen. I fell in love. It was such an intense love that when he broke my heart in a malicious and disgusting way, I erased his behavior from my mind and vowed that if he ever came back into my life, I would drop everything and move anywhere and do whatever it took to be with him. And that's what I did.
It was my fault. I was bored, and I wondered how his life was going. It had been nearly 5 years since he'd broken my heart, but he was still deeply embedded in there. I made the phone call that changed my life. Within 2 weeks of that phone call, we were engaged. I was 20 years old. He treated me like gold, and I loved him beyond all else.
Six months later, we were married in a beautiful garden ceremony, and coming from two disturbingly broken homes, we were the poster children for success and change. And we have failed. On our honeymoon, he told me he didn't love me. And I didn't believe him because it was said in an angry moment. Sometimes angry moments yield deep truths.
Ten years, two amazing children, and an irreversibly broken soul later, those words ring truer in my ears and in my heart than ever before. I should've heard him the first time.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Look
Poetry to Prose VI
My acid tongue will burn you, eat into your heart, and corrode it away. To an outsider, they're mere words, but I'll rip to shreds all you've ever known, and you'll love it, you'll take it. You'll beg for my newly sharpened tongue to cut deep into your soul, into that wall you built. You don't know what evil dwells here pleading to be unleashed and set free, to spread her murderous rage and slide her rusty iron hands around your throat to choke your words, crush your air, and leave her handprint branded on your neck. It will be a permanent reminder every time you look in the mirror. Those words, those killing words, and the massacre your eyes laid on me. Look at me and see yourself. Turn your coward eyes on me now. Look at me and see your creation. Love the sharp acid tongue, and invoke its use, take it inside. Feel the fire, the blazing wound, and watch your sanguine covered hands ball into fists. It's futile to resist. You'll look at me and beg for more.
My acid tongue will burn you, eat into your heart, and corrode it away. To an outsider, they're mere words, but I'll rip to shreds all you've ever known, and you'll love it, you'll take it. You'll beg for my newly sharpened tongue to cut deep into your soul, into that wall you built. You don't know what evil dwells here pleading to be unleashed and set free, to spread her murderous rage and slide her rusty iron hands around your throat to choke your words, crush your air, and leave her handprint branded on your neck. It will be a permanent reminder every time you look in the mirror. Those words, those killing words, and the massacre your eyes laid on me. Look at me and see yourself. Turn your coward eyes on me now. Look at me and see your creation. Love the sharp acid tongue, and invoke its use, take it inside. Feel the fire, the blazing wound, and watch your sanguine covered hands ball into fists. It's futile to resist. You'll look at me and beg for more.
Ocean
Poetry to Prose V
You move in and out, my ocean, and I know all is not said. Your waves come crashing in unexpectedly harsh since I wasn't looking your way. It's all a little too soon; I hadn't braced myself well. Your salt angers my wounds, and I only want more as you wash easily into my sores, dangerously deep. Since then I've been aware that it's all too much, and I'm not ready quite yet. You drag me deep underneath, and I can hardly breathe. Your ripples distort my visions, my impenetrable trance; I was daydreaming anyway. It's a little too dark in here, and I didn't hold myself high enough to keep your rough tides from pushing me away, but I know how things are. You flow effortlessly through me, disturbingly coarse since I was imagining softness, and now it's all I feel. I can't stand steady here. You cleanse all you pass through, and I am clearly gone, but your flow wears me down more, perfectly smooth since I wasn't moving away. I stood a little too still for you. I haven't found myself yet.
You move in and out, my ocean, and I know all is not said. Your waves come crashing in unexpectedly harsh since I wasn't looking your way. It's all a little too soon; I hadn't braced myself well. Your salt angers my wounds, and I only want more as you wash easily into my sores, dangerously deep. Since then I've been aware that it's all too much, and I'm not ready quite yet. You drag me deep underneath, and I can hardly breathe. Your ripples distort my visions, my impenetrable trance; I was daydreaming anyway. It's a little too dark in here, and I didn't hold myself high enough to keep your rough tides from pushing me away, but I know how things are. You flow effortlessly through me, disturbingly coarse since I was imagining softness, and now it's all I feel. I can't stand steady here. You cleanse all you pass through, and I am clearly gone, but your flow wears me down more, perfectly smooth since I wasn't moving away. I stood a little too still for you. I haven't found myself yet.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
My Morning Dream
Poetry to Prose IV
He's a beautiful dream unable to withstand the morning sunlight, a whisper in the breaking dawn, and I wonder if he's real. He shines lonely over the divergent paths I'm traveling now, the gravelly crunch beneath my feet. There's no broken glass here. A beautiful sadness emanates radiantly through his ice blue eyes, deceptively clear but walled behind. I wonder what he feels. His image retreats into an abyss of softly faded dreams I've had, dreams no longer able to be recalled, just a wavering thought. He'd dive headfirst into an empty concrete pool and land softly there; I'd just drown happily in his eyes. I wonder why that is? He's all white marble and copper waves flowing through my fingertips, and I know I'll never be able to hold my morning dream.
He's a beautiful dream unable to withstand the morning sunlight, a whisper in the breaking dawn, and I wonder if he's real. He shines lonely over the divergent paths I'm traveling now, the gravelly crunch beneath my feet. There's no broken glass here. A beautiful sadness emanates radiantly through his ice blue eyes, deceptively clear but walled behind. I wonder what he feels. His image retreats into an abyss of softly faded dreams I've had, dreams no longer able to be recalled, just a wavering thought. He'd dive headfirst into an empty concrete pool and land softly there; I'd just drown happily in his eyes. I wonder why that is? He's all white marble and copper waves flowing through my fingertips, and I know I'll never be able to hold my morning dream.
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