"losing yourself is easy, but finding yourself again proves you're strong"
i don't know why I picked this blog back up again. maybe its because i have so much to say and not really anyone to say it to. maybe its because i have so many things running through my head, so many thoughts and memories stuck on repeat, that maybe, just maybe, if i write them down they will become unstuck and leave forever. maybe it will be therapeutic, or maybe it will leave me stuck in this place of torture and self-defeat that i didnt ask to be in. maybe it will make it all go away...
8 years, as a 27 year old, seems like a life-time. lets face it...
...from birth to 8, you really dont remember anything, and if you do its like, getting a bike for christmas or breaking an ankle jumping off of a swing, or not-so-vivid memories of your father leaving and switching homes and starting a new life.
...from 8-16 you are molded into this person. this person trying to find out who they are in a scary world full of junior-high and marijuana cigarettes and boys and kissing in closets. you just start to figure out what you like, what you want to be like, you find your friends, your niche, you decide what you want to be when you grow up... but you arent grown. you may think you are but hell, lets be real, looking back we were dumb, awkward know-it-alls with pimples and braces and a knack for really pissing off our parents.
...16-mid-20s, the present. life is when you come into your own. you learn to love, you learn to be independent (some of us), you learn how much cheap beer you can drink before you puke in a frat house, you learn what you can get away with, you learn what you're made of when facing tough situations, but maybe, most importantly you will find out who you really are.
i lost myself. i lost myself in a relationship for 8 years with someone, who it turns out, never really loved me back. someone who, when it came time to face tough times and trials, tribulations, real hard-core 'learning what youre made of' stuff, failed me, bailed, checked out, stopped loving me... and never told me. all along the words 'i love you' that i believed, were a facade...told to me to try to string me along until his unhappiness couldnt be dealt with anymore, until i stopped believing him because his actions and complete lack of disregard for my feelings showed me otherwise. questioning someones love for you is never an easy thing... being told "im not in love with you anymore" is the most difficult thing... especially when you are still in love with that person.
"ive been unhappy for so long." "i stopped caring." "i stopped making an effort." "you are not important to me anymore."... hearing these things from someone you are in love with is devastating. not knowing they have felt this way in months, maybe years, is overwhelming and confusing, and when it comes down to it, outright mean and deceitful. a heart is a fragile plaything. when it breaks, its impossible to fully put back together. i feel as if someone climbed a ladder to the top of an 80-story building and launched mine to the ground watching, knowing it was going to shatter but never feeling an ounce of regret or remorse. just watching. just waiting.
and then walking away.
in time i will begin to pick up the pieces. right now im just staring at them, confused, questioning why they are there in the first place. where do i begin? the memories themselves are enough to keep me up at night, enough to make me cry rage and uncontrollable tears until im in fetal position on the bathroom floor begging God to take away the pain, to take away the memories, to take away the last 8 years and purge them from my mind and heart...wondering if it would be easier if i didn't wake up in the morning because i cant bear the weight of this broken heart...
...while he moves on. the initial shock and devastation is enough to send someone into a downward spiral of sadness, loneliness, and depression, but when this person who so carelessly played with your life and heart and future, takes a girl on a date 5 days after he pulls the plug, well that my friends, is the lowest blow a person could take. kick me while im down? far from it. rage? yes. anger? more than you know. disposable? easily. worthlessness? unending.
im in the middle of an ocean, waves crashing around me, sending me into the deepest blue waters, coming up rising for air, just for another wave to send me back down again. grasping for life. grasping for hope... grasping for something i know is not there to save me.
my mind filled with the still-frames of our life together, my face replaced with someone new. someone not worthy of taking my place, someone who when I think of him happy with her sends me into uncontrollable sadness and despair. knowing i was so replaceable, so easily forgotten, so easily dead to the man i loved for what i consider a lifetime.
a broken heart? the phrase doesnt do it justice. its the deepest pain, the deepest wounds that are ripped open each and everytime i wake from my sleep, ripped open when i wake up screaming from a nightmare... ripped open as i live my nightmares. will they heal? its hard to believe its possible. its hard to imagine a world, a life without him. without me in his and he in mine. after 8 years your lives are forever intertwined and it seems that picking up and leaving this life i have created for myself is the only option. going somewhere where every place, every object, every sound, sight, smell isnt a memory that rips the wounds open once more. somewhere i wont live in constant fear of seeing him, them together as they live their happy lives while im begging for only a short relief from the tears, for a short glimpse or feeling of sanity. somewhere to heal, somewhere to try to make sense of betrayal, to make sense of how in the world someone even begins to pick up the pieces.
8 years. 8 years is your childhood. 8 years is your youth. 8 years is you coming into adulthood. 8 years is a chance to love deeply, but also a chance to ruin a person completely. 8 years is what im left having to make sense of, having to process, and question, and rehash, and live on repeat everyday until those memories fade, until those wounds turn to scars. scars that i know will never fully fade. scars that i will feel more than anyone should have to live with, have to bare.
8 years is also a reminder of the person i have become. the strength i have ascertained, the sense of self i thought i once had, and will someday, maybe not soon, but eventually come to realize i still have. 8 years is a reminder of accomplishments and failures that push a person to become better, to remember what you're made of, remember why you became the person you are today. 8 years is a reminder that life goes on. healing does come. it may not be soon, it may not be visible, but it comes. onto that hope i will cling. i will make it through every day with the promise that i will get better, i will survive, i will remember and find that person i once loved and once was.
i will find me again.
