(no subject)
Love Hurts
As I was perusing journals I stumbled across this and thought "wow, I've been there" and realized that we have ALL been there. I'm sure we all want to dodge this fate. I sure do.
JJ
Stolen from vblackangelv who stole it from ekatua
this my friends is an awesome lesson!
You know it has to happen. You avoid it like facial herpes, hoping against hope that you aren't the one who has to endure it, but inevitably, like death, taxes, or a rush of homicidal rage on the Muni due to the asshole with the backpack who doesn't realize he's bumped into you with it ten times in the last quarter mile, you have to deal with it.
Allow me to set the stage here, then if you wish, you can stop reading and simply fill in your own experience with this, suddenly fading off into your dim memories when you too were forced to say goodbye to someone you desperately didn't want to. Letting go, it turns out, really is hard to do.
So you met her (or him), and things clicked way quicker than you ever remember them clicking w/ someone else. I'm talking "wow, I'd like to stick around after the sex" type of clicking. If your first impulse isn't crafting an excuse to leave and mentally routing the bus route you're taking to get home (or the best corner to grab a taxi, depending upon the severity of your situation) than you know something is amiss. Now, if after the sex, you not only don't have that knee-jerk, prison-break impulse, but you actually want to stay, to talk to her (or him) and hang out, well...then something's going on.
And sure enough, something is.
Romance starts. The kind you always swore you were either against, wasn't ever going to happen to you, or simply didn't exist. You find yourself saying and doing things that caused you to cringe and shudder only months ago at the mere thought of it. "Are these flowers in my hand? Where did I get them? Am I seriously concerned about the nagging pain in her ankle she keeps talking about? Wait a fucking minute, why am I in Bed, Bath, and Beyond?" Suddenly it's your watching your doppleganger doing all these things, and you swear to holy hell it's not you, but Jesus H. it sure looks like you.
Your friends start noticing. "What's up with you lately?" "When did you pick up those jeans...did she get them for you?" "Holy shit, did you cut your toenails?"
They smirk and laugh, some a touch bitter at your sudden personality change, most actually happy for you.
You start complaining less. And this one really freaks you the fuck out. I mean, the grueling, homicide-suicide inducing 41 Muni line crawl through Chinatown that used to have you muttering and twitching like Nicholson in "The Shinning" suddenly doesn't bother you all that much. Your ass-clown of a boss and your innane, mental midget co-workers barely even give you pause. Mornings aren't wretched, migraine fighting epic struggles any longer. You switch to tea. You know something's wrong, you can tell this just ain't you, but by God, you feel.....happy?
When it hits you, it's like one of those old school 3-D image posters that you stare at, until suddenly the image starts to fold, mesh, and breathe right before your eyes, and voila'!, it's a fucking ship out to sea! And you go "wow, that's wild." Yeah, this is wild too. You just didn't expect it, you sure as hell weren't looking for it, and now that it's finally dawned on you, you start to understand how the guy who found Tut's tomb must have felt. "I knew this shit was down here, but really, I didn't think I'd find it."
You're in love.
And my FUCKING GOD, those first few days/weeks/months when it hits you like that, you might as well have a morphine drip in your arm at all times, because NOTHING can bring you down. I mean, an IRS audit, being performed by two old frat brothers, WHILE on the 41 Muni through Chinatown STILL couldn't wipe that smile off your face. Intestinal discomfort, although still relatively annoying, does not cause you to curse your small intestines like you used to. Your annoying roommate? Suddenly charming. The sound of your alarm clock that used to make you wish inanimate objects could feel pain? Music to your fucking ears. Your cube? Well, the cube still sucks...this is real life people, not magic hour at the Bellagio.
You never thought it could happen to you and now that it has you're as happy as a bearded clam. Happier even.
Then you're minded of the golden rule of life. The only constant in change. Like the Roots second, or maybe it was their third album, things fall apart. Suddenly your happiness gives way to the giant maw of depressions hell hounds, snarling with foam-soaked fangs, here to chomp your fucking soul into a thousand pieces.
The relationship is over, but you can't face that. You fight like bloody hell, passionately debating her, explaining how things can be, desperately trying to do the impossible, force someone else's heart into feeling the same way yours does.
Everyone who cares about you in your life tries to help. Buddies line up to drink w/ you, smoke w/ you, laugh with you, tell you to move on, buck up, go get laid and forget the bitch. Family supports you, whispering ageless sentiments into your ear like "it wasn't meant to be" and "the right one will come along." You believe none of it, of course, but you appreciate the effort.
With all the people who love you showering you with affection, it dawns on you..."it's not helping." You want two things desperately; her (or him), and if not that, than to be alone, most likely with booze, and to be left that way until things are different, or you're drunk, or both.
Time drips by like maple down a tree trunk, days seem unending as you silently torture yourself with images of her (or him), stretching every moment out until he loses all linear sense and becomes one long, garbled, confusing mass of sadness.
This goes on and on, for longer than you thought possible, and it seems to get worse, not better.
You snap a few times, setting up face to face meetings even though it kills you just to see her. You manage to get alcohol involved, even getting her (or him) into the sack once or twice more. After all, we're all human, and everyone likes affection from time to time. Those fleeting moments of intimacy are so intense for you that you feel on the verge of tears the whole time, even though at the moment, you're getting exactly what you wanted, her (or him)..but the knowledge that it's fools gold, an apparition, and will soon disappear before your very eyes like smoke only makes the situation that much more insane. You kiss her (or him) as if they're the last lips you'll ever taste, and as far as your concerned at the moment, they are.
Then time passes. The raw, bottomless pain that encompassed your life softens a little. It doesn't pass, but it eases in intensity, you begin to scrape out something like the life you had before, all the while continually entertaining the foolish, self-defeating dreams of her (or him) coming back to you. "If you love something, set it free, if it comes back, it's true" becomes your new motto. You almost convince yourself it's going to work out, even though in your heart of hearts you know it's over.
But you refuse to say goodbye. To officially move on. To wish her (or him) the best and take a step in the other direction. It's too hard. It's too final. It's too....real.
And so you stay, right in the little, decrepit hole you've dug for yourself, now comfortable in the misery you've become so accustomed to, too afraid to live again.
And somewhere, deep inside, you secretly hope she (or he) is hurting too.
But they're not, because they've moved on. And you haven't. And in life, no one's gonna do shit for you. You do it, or it doesn't get done.
It's as simple as that.
Doesn't make it any easier, unfortunately. Good luck.