All she would say is "I'm glad you finally realized that"; and I hate her for it.
"Stress is caused by being 'here' but wanting to be 'there."' ~Eckhart Tolle
(Be here now.)
I've been running through this minefield. Wildly. Blindly. Numbly.
For the fun of it, the thrill? Because something inside me whispered this is what to do? I could not disobey; as if my life depended on it.
I plowed right into the thick of things. I didn't stop. Slow down. Ask questions.
And right now I know that if I continue, I'm most likely perpetuating the cycle. If I want to break it, I have to disobey my heart. I have rip my own heart out. What's left of it.
Can I get over this hurdle?
Can I come back around?
Can I love her, and cherish her as I did before?
And then can my love grow from there?
I don't know anymore if the price is worth the gain. Except, I know that if the gain reaches it's full potential, I couldn't ask for more. But I have doubts in her willingness to put forth the effort needed to make this work. And it breaks my heart.
She has a firm hold of my puppet strings. And this marionette dances happily to please. But she plays rough, and the strings do not break easy (despite their fragile appearance), but suddenly and sharply. I ask, "Is it really such a shock?" To which she responds with a confused, blank look. "I mean, if you play so rough is it a surprise that the toy breaks?" "I guess not..." "So why do you do it that way then. Why do you behave destructively, if you don't want to destroy?" The answer is she doesn't know what else to do any more, she's broken.
These are the tiny circles in our larger cycle. We go through these same strokes in every pond we come to. I don't expect anything to change, but I go through the motions, in case it makes a difference. I put forth the effort unceasingly. I want this to work. I need this to work.
I know not why.
I want to find that girl I fell in love with. She knows that girl is lost, but she doesn't want to find her, or so she tells me. It's too much work.
She is sick. I must be sick too. We are sick together, quarantined in this house we half built and destroyed together.
So, what really happened?
She always tells me to leave. She pushes me away. She asks why I don't initiate intimacy. She says it's like we are not really girlfriends. I explain that when she pushes me away, asks me to leave; I feel hurt, sad, distant, unwanted - so why would I want to be intimate. I say she needs to give me some time to come back around. I ask if she understands, and she says she does...
She says she's not comfortable being intimate.
I ask her to communicate. She gets uncomfortable and locks up even more.
I ask why she contradicts herself. She says she doesn't know. She doesn't know what she wants.
I ask if she's sure she wants me. She says I should be with someone else. Someone nice. Someone like me.
"But, what do YOU want?!" I press.
"Why do you want me? Why do you try so hard to make this work?" she asks.
"I know you have a great spirit. ..." I respond as she laughs, then continue, "You can't get what you want without putting in some effort."
She's an alcoholic. When I see that all too familiar look in her eyes, I feel sick. What am I doing to myself? Fortunately, she's docile when she drinks - this part is new to me. Some how it makes things more acceptable. But I hate it when I try to talk to her, and she fusses and fidgets, and tries to change the subject - then finally explodes with "Why do we have to talk about everything?!" "I can't handle this!" "I just want to get drunk." That's the kicker. She knows it hurts me, she must know. If she'd stop and think about it.
But for her, thinking is too hard too, almost as difficult as talking.
I remind myself again.
She doesn't mean to hurt me.
Why does this make it OK? It doesn't. And I know it.
(Be here now.)
I've been running through this minefield. Wildly. Blindly. Numbly.
For the fun of it, the thrill? Because something inside me whispered this is what to do? I could not disobey; as if my life depended on it.
I plowed right into the thick of things. I didn't stop. Slow down. Ask questions.
And right now I know that if I continue, I'm most likely perpetuating the cycle. If I want to break it, I have to disobey my heart. I have rip my own heart out. What's left of it.
Can I get over this hurdle?
Can I come back around?
Can I love her, and cherish her as I did before?
And then can my love grow from there?
I don't know anymore if the price is worth the gain. Except, I know that if the gain reaches it's full potential, I couldn't ask for more. But I have doubts in her willingness to put forth the effort needed to make this work. And it breaks my heart.
She has a firm hold of my puppet strings. And this marionette dances happily to please. But she plays rough, and the strings do not break easy (despite their fragile appearance), but suddenly and sharply. I ask, "Is it really such a shock?" To which she responds with a confused, blank look. "I mean, if you play so rough is it a surprise that the toy breaks?" "I guess not..." "So why do you do it that way then. Why do you behave destructively, if you don't want to destroy?" The answer is she doesn't know what else to do any more, she's broken.
These are the tiny circles in our larger cycle. We go through these same strokes in every pond we come to. I don't expect anything to change, but I go through the motions, in case it makes a difference. I put forth the effort unceasingly. I want this to work. I need this to work.
I know not why.
I want to find that girl I fell in love with. She knows that girl is lost, but she doesn't want to find her, or so she tells me. It's too much work.
She is sick. I must be sick too. We are sick together, quarantined in this house we half built and destroyed together.
So, what really happened?
She always tells me to leave. She pushes me away. She asks why I don't initiate intimacy. She says it's like we are not really girlfriends. I explain that when she pushes me away, asks me to leave; I feel hurt, sad, distant, unwanted - so why would I want to be intimate. I say she needs to give me some time to come back around. I ask if she understands, and she says she does...
She says she's not comfortable being intimate.
I ask her to communicate. She gets uncomfortable and locks up even more.
I ask why she contradicts herself. She says she doesn't know. She doesn't know what she wants.
I ask if she's sure she wants me. She says I should be with someone else. Someone nice. Someone like me.
"But, what do YOU want?!" I press.
"Why do you want me? Why do you try so hard to make this work?" she asks.
"I know you have a great spirit. ..." I respond as she laughs, then continue, "You can't get what you want without putting in some effort."
She's an alcoholic. When I see that all too familiar look in her eyes, I feel sick. What am I doing to myself? Fortunately, she's docile when she drinks - this part is new to me. Some how it makes things more acceptable. But I hate it when I try to talk to her, and she fusses and fidgets, and tries to change the subject - then finally explodes with "Why do we have to talk about everything?!" "I can't handle this!" "I just want to get drunk." That's the kicker. She knows it hurts me, she must know. If she'd stop and think about it.
But for her, thinking is too hard too, almost as difficult as talking.
I remind myself again.
She doesn't mean to hurt me.
Why does this make it OK? It doesn't. And I know it.