So much has changed in the past half hour. Another set of dreams shattered before they could even fully form. They were such vague outlines, I didn't think I'd actually seriously invested anything in them yet. But what I felt when I saw them shatter said different.
There is something much more that is keeping David and I from being together. Out of respect I won't say it. But he's letting it stop us. There isn't even an us yet. And if he gets his way, there never will be.
I'm so tired of letting things get in the way. Having to work my way around them, or even just backtracking and choosing another path. This time, I'm ready to plow through the obstacle, only to find out the person I'm fighting for is giving up.
Nothing is ever fair anymore. I don't get what I did to have everything good in my life get screwed up. I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to curse whatever sick twisted thing that decided to start toying with my life, my life, and screw up every chance I get for some peace. I just want... to be held. But no, I can't even have that. And I'm too freaking hopeful that maybe something, anything, will change because fate owes me that, at least. Just one goddamn thing that can go right in my life. And i can't just give up, I can't just turn around and forget. There's something in me that won't let me, and sometimes, I wish that something would die. Because that part that won't allow me to let go is keeping me tethered and in pain. And I hate it.
Maybe I was doomed from the start. Maybe all my fears were right. I never can hold onto anything that's good enough. It always dances right beyond my reach.
I'll be lucky to get what the little girl got. Even in my last moments. I don't even know whether to expect that anymore.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Speechless
The past couple of days have been eye-opening, and as much as I needed that, I'm still not so sure that I'm happy about it. Things are starting to scare me more and more.
Talking to David last night... I can't even explain it. It's like he cares so much about me, and I still don't get why. I feel so unworthy of it, and since I do, I'm afraid that it's going to stop at some point, because maybe he'll see that I don't deserve it, and then I'll just... start to crack.
It's crazy because when we were talking last night, I realized that I don't want to put up some flawless facade around him. I'm so tired of everybody seeing the me that I try to be, I want someone to see who I really am. But there are parts of this mask that I don't want to remove, or can't. They are there just as much to hide me from myself as they are to hide me from others. There are some pieces I don't want to see, or acknowledge. I always feel like there are some deep dark secrets underneath my core, and I guess in a way, David scares me, because if anyone could unearth them, it would definitely be him.
He mentioned last night all he wanted was to see me happy: truly happy, or at least content. Because even when I was smiling and talking to other people, he could see some disturbance in my eyes. Undercurrents. And he said he sometimes thought that the only time I would ever possess that serenity would be at my funeral. What freaked me out is that I have had those feelings so many times, I just never wanted to admit them.
It got to the point where I didn't know what to say. But I knew if I tried to open my mouth, to let some of the raw emotions that were consuming me out, I was going to break down. And as much of me as David can see, I don't want anybody to see that. I guess it's part of the mask again. I feel like I have to be strong, I can't let anyone see any weakness. I can't let myself be vulnerable. Because every time I show that side to somebody, I end up hurt and alone. And after this last time, I don't know how I'd handle it. Especially from him. But still, I wanted to let him know how I felt in some way, but something was holding me back. And I resented that stubborn part of me so much when he said "Sweet dreams," and hung up.
...
Needless to say I cried myself to sleep.
I feel like he's ripping me apart. Like I'm this old, screwed up, falling apart, ruined building that he's tearing down brick by brick. Like there's a maze inside, with absolutely no way to the heart of the building, but he's slowly changing that. But maybe I need this. This structure has kept me safe in some ways for so long, but at the same time, it's crushing me. Any moment it could collapse. Maybe after he tears me down, I can build myself up better.
I realized something though. I wrote a short story a couple of days ago, entitled "With a Smile." I think the little girl is me. My inner child, or whatever. Always reaching, never grasping. Nothing for her, until the end. I think it is that child that is hidden in the center of the building. Who I am right now is this strong dark being I made to protect that piece of me. But a building built on a bad foundation will fall.
It's bad, but at this point, I would be glad to have what the girl has in her last moments. Even if it's at the end for me, or beyond. I want peace of mind, if even for a second.
I want some pure happiness.
-----
"With a Smile"
It was gone the minute it returned. Or maybe it was never even back. Her arms extended, she reached out her fingers, expecting it to brush the tips of her tiny, innocent hands, but, alas, she was left bereft. With a sharp intake of breath, she stretched out her arms a little more… but no. With a sigh, and holding back tears, she let her arms fall back to her sides, and dropped her chin to her chest. It was like this every time. She turned around, and walked away from the edge of the orphanage roof, back towards the center, back towards the door that led downstairs. With every descending step she took, she felt another piece of heaviness enter her heart. Her room looked even more gray than when she had left, the bed more stiff, the sheets more sparse. When she looked in the mirror, her pallid skin looked more grimy, her colorless clothes more worn, her jet-black hair more stringy, and her body more hungry. Everything was more dark, desolate, dreary, every time she missed it. She rubbed at some of the soot covering her hands- the only thing she achieved was smearing it more. She went to sit on her bed, and didn’t even flinch when a roach crawled out from under her blanket. She picked at her fingernails for a bit, but then glanced up when she saw a glimpse of orange out of the corner of her eye. She looked up to see a butterfly perched on the mirror, perhaps drawn in by its own reflection. When it flew off, she was still gazing absentmindedly at the spot where it had been, not noticing at first where her eyes rested, being lost in thought as she was. When she did come to, she was looking straight into her own eyes, as always, a startling blue, but they were brimming with tears. She screamed in outrage just as the tears spilled over. Her fists clenched, she ran at the mirror, beating it as hard as she could, until the spider-mark cracks webbed their way across the mirror, and all the shards fell to the ground. She sank to the floor, sobbing, not even noticing the tiny pieces of reflective glass embedded in the gashes in her hands and wrists. However, after several minutes, she did notice how cold she started to feel. Some last animal instinct in her drove her to stand and make movements toward the bed, and blankets, however thin they were, but she stumbled and fell to the floor. She lay there, gasping for the breath that would not save her as she finally noticed the blood dripping sluggishly, half-heartedly, from her cuts. She felt like her heart wanted to pound, but simply didn’t have the motivation to anymore. As she closed her eyes, she felt its presence. She didn’t need to see it: she simply reached her hand out, and finally, finally, made contact. But it was even more than she could ask for- not only did it touch her fingertips, or her hand, but it enveloped her. It was everything she had ever dreamed of, and ever lacked. But now, with her last breath, with her hand falling back to the floor, nothing else she had suffered mattered or existed. “Her last moments were happy,” they said, “she died with a smile on her face.”
Copyright © 2008 Julie Pyle
Talking to David last night... I can't even explain it. It's like he cares so much about me, and I still don't get why. I feel so unworthy of it, and since I do, I'm afraid that it's going to stop at some point, because maybe he'll see that I don't deserve it, and then I'll just... start to crack.
It's crazy because when we were talking last night, I realized that I don't want to put up some flawless facade around him. I'm so tired of everybody seeing the me that I try to be, I want someone to see who I really am. But there are parts of this mask that I don't want to remove, or can't. They are there just as much to hide me from myself as they are to hide me from others. There are some pieces I don't want to see, or acknowledge. I always feel like there are some deep dark secrets underneath my core, and I guess in a way, David scares me, because if anyone could unearth them, it would definitely be him.
He mentioned last night all he wanted was to see me happy: truly happy, or at least content. Because even when I was smiling and talking to other people, he could see some disturbance in my eyes. Undercurrents. And he said he sometimes thought that the only time I would ever possess that serenity would be at my funeral. What freaked me out is that I have had those feelings so many times, I just never wanted to admit them.
It got to the point where I didn't know what to say. But I knew if I tried to open my mouth, to let some of the raw emotions that were consuming me out, I was going to break down. And as much of me as David can see, I don't want anybody to see that. I guess it's part of the mask again. I feel like I have to be strong, I can't let anyone see any weakness. I can't let myself be vulnerable. Because every time I show that side to somebody, I end up hurt and alone. And after this last time, I don't know how I'd handle it. Especially from him. But still, I wanted to let him know how I felt in some way, but something was holding me back. And I resented that stubborn part of me so much when he said "Sweet dreams," and hung up.
...
Needless to say I cried myself to sleep.
I feel like he's ripping me apart. Like I'm this old, screwed up, falling apart, ruined building that he's tearing down brick by brick. Like there's a maze inside, with absolutely no way to the heart of the building, but he's slowly changing that. But maybe I need this. This structure has kept me safe in some ways for so long, but at the same time, it's crushing me. Any moment it could collapse. Maybe after he tears me down, I can build myself up better.
I realized something though. I wrote a short story a couple of days ago, entitled "With a Smile." I think the little girl is me. My inner child, or whatever. Always reaching, never grasping. Nothing for her, until the end. I think it is that child that is hidden in the center of the building. Who I am right now is this strong dark being I made to protect that piece of me. But a building built on a bad foundation will fall.
It's bad, but at this point, I would be glad to have what the girl has in her last moments. Even if it's at the end for me, or beyond. I want peace of mind, if even for a second.
I want some pure happiness.
-----
"With a Smile"
It was gone the minute it returned. Or maybe it was never even back. Her arms extended, she reached out her fingers, expecting it to brush the tips of her tiny, innocent hands, but, alas, she was left bereft. With a sharp intake of breath, she stretched out her arms a little more… but no. With a sigh, and holding back tears, she let her arms fall back to her sides, and dropped her chin to her chest. It was like this every time. She turned around, and walked away from the edge of the orphanage roof, back towards the center, back towards the door that led downstairs. With every descending step she took, she felt another piece of heaviness enter her heart. Her room looked even more gray than when she had left, the bed more stiff, the sheets more sparse. When she looked in the mirror, her pallid skin looked more grimy, her colorless clothes more worn, her jet-black hair more stringy, and her body more hungry. Everything was more dark, desolate, dreary, every time she missed it. She rubbed at some of the soot covering her hands- the only thing she achieved was smearing it more. She went to sit on her bed, and didn’t even flinch when a roach crawled out from under her blanket. She picked at her fingernails for a bit, but then glanced up when she saw a glimpse of orange out of the corner of her eye. She looked up to see a butterfly perched on the mirror, perhaps drawn in by its own reflection. When it flew off, she was still gazing absentmindedly at the spot where it had been, not noticing at first where her eyes rested, being lost in thought as she was. When she did come to, she was looking straight into her own eyes, as always, a startling blue, but they were brimming with tears. She screamed in outrage just as the tears spilled over. Her fists clenched, she ran at the mirror, beating it as hard as she could, until the spider-mark cracks webbed their way across the mirror, and all the shards fell to the ground. She sank to the floor, sobbing, not even noticing the tiny pieces of reflective glass embedded in the gashes in her hands and wrists. However, after several minutes, she did notice how cold she started to feel. Some last animal instinct in her drove her to stand and make movements toward the bed, and blankets, however thin they were, but she stumbled and fell to the floor. She lay there, gasping for the breath that would not save her as she finally noticed the blood dripping sluggishly, half-heartedly, from her cuts. She felt like her heart wanted to pound, but simply didn’t have the motivation to anymore. As she closed her eyes, she felt its presence. She didn’t need to see it: she simply reached her hand out, and finally, finally, made contact. But it was even more than she could ask for- not only did it touch her fingertips, or her hand, but it enveloped her. It was everything she had ever dreamed of, and ever lacked. But now, with her last breath, with her hand falling back to the floor, nothing else she had suffered mattered or existed. “Her last moments were happy,” they said, “she died with a smile on her face.”
Copyright © 2008 Julie Pyle
Sunday, June 22, 2008
New Horizons
It's crazy, because two weeks ago, I would have told you I was happy. Two weeks ago, I thought I was.
I wasn't. As much as it pains me to say this, I must say it: I was miserable. I was crying myself to sleep a couple of nights a week. Two weeks ago, Michael and I were getting into fights everyday. Two weeks ago I still had vivid thoughts of killing myself. I felt sick with worry, sick with guilt, sick with inadequacy, sick with betrayal, sick with pain, sick with fears of so many things, mainly of loss.
It's just now that I see I lost myself. I was so caught up in what things should have been like, that I completely overlooked Reality. But who wants to admit Reality when She is standing there with a 45 in your face? She has already beaten you down to a pulp, stabbed you in the back numerous times, and made you feel like shit- completely worthless. And I... I was sitting in the corner of the room, lost in my own little world with my delusions of optimism and grandeur. I was convinced that it had to get better soon. Reality owed me that. I deserved it, damnit, and I wasn't letting go until I had it in my fucking grasp.
What I didn't see was that it took me letting go, the very thing I refused to do, in order to get over that next barrier.
So yes. Michael and I broke up. Do you think I blew it out of proportion? I'm not done yet.
I haven't begun to explain how I loved him so much I overlooked my needs. I haven't yet begun to explain the way he made me feel, which, I think, might have been what I loved the most. For there were good times where I felt like I would never be happier. But shadows of the past and strained minds and starved hearts can obliterate anything, any happiness at all.
And don't think I didn't hate myself. I did. For the first 48 hours I thought I was making the biggest mistake. I thought that it was wrong, all wrong, and we were taking the easy way out. But the easy way was letting ourselves believe in the fairy-tale ending when there was a good chance we would self-destruct long before we ever reached it. Our relationship was like a drug, it kept feeding us and feeding us, sating our need for companionship, for passion, for love, while constantly destroying us more and more violently the longer we indulged.
I love Michael, but our relationship was a poison, and one I had gladly taken, thinking that maybe the next time it would magically turn into a cure, or maybe the next time, or the next, or the time after that. I didn't want the poison: I wanted the cure. "The hand that hurts can also heal" and all that.
I'm free now: free to live with the guilt that maybe if I had tried harder, been better, prettier, smarter, etc. Free to live with a heart that has been broken yet again. Free to live with another set of shattered, unfulfilled dreams.
And yet, I'm also free to move on. Those bruises, scrapes, and cuts that darkened my heart, mind, and soul are no longer being reopened, and relived everyday- they have the chance to heal. Maybe one day I'll be whole, or at least close enough to be content.
I wasn't. As much as it pains me to say this, I must say it: I was miserable. I was crying myself to sleep a couple of nights a week. Two weeks ago, Michael and I were getting into fights everyday. Two weeks ago I still had vivid thoughts of killing myself. I felt sick with worry, sick with guilt, sick with inadequacy, sick with betrayal, sick with pain, sick with fears of so many things, mainly of loss.
It's just now that I see I lost myself. I was so caught up in what things should have been like, that I completely overlooked Reality. But who wants to admit Reality when She is standing there with a 45 in your face? She has already beaten you down to a pulp, stabbed you in the back numerous times, and made you feel like shit- completely worthless. And I... I was sitting in the corner of the room, lost in my own little world with my delusions of optimism and grandeur. I was convinced that it had to get better soon. Reality owed me that. I deserved it, damnit, and I wasn't letting go until I had it in my fucking grasp.
What I didn't see was that it took me letting go, the very thing I refused to do, in order to get over that next barrier.
So yes. Michael and I broke up. Do you think I blew it out of proportion? I'm not done yet.
I haven't begun to explain how I loved him so much I overlooked my needs. I haven't yet begun to explain the way he made me feel, which, I think, might have been what I loved the most. For there were good times where I felt like I would never be happier. But shadows of the past and strained minds and starved hearts can obliterate anything, any happiness at all.
And don't think I didn't hate myself. I did. For the first 48 hours I thought I was making the biggest mistake. I thought that it was wrong, all wrong, and we were taking the easy way out. But the easy way was letting ourselves believe in the fairy-tale ending when there was a good chance we would self-destruct long before we ever reached it. Our relationship was like a drug, it kept feeding us and feeding us, sating our need for companionship, for passion, for love, while constantly destroying us more and more violently the longer we indulged.
I love Michael, but our relationship was a poison, and one I had gladly taken, thinking that maybe the next time it would magically turn into a cure, or maybe the next time, or the next, or the time after that. I didn't want the poison: I wanted the cure. "The hand that hurts can also heal" and all that.
I'm free now: free to live with the guilt that maybe if I had tried harder, been better, prettier, smarter, etc. Free to live with a heart that has been broken yet again. Free to live with another set of shattered, unfulfilled dreams.
And yet, I'm also free to move on. Those bruises, scrapes, and cuts that darkened my heart, mind, and soul are no longer being reopened, and relived everyday- they have the chance to heal. Maybe one day I'll be whole, or at least close enough to be content.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Broken-hearted, but relieved.
So many things have happened lately, it's really ridiculous. I've decided not to hold anything back here: what's the point? I'll only be holding it back from myself, this will be me, unedited, unconstrained, unbound. No rules or obligations apply.
Michael and I broke up. It sucked ass. We both cried, and we didn't want to, but there was no other way to fix it; we had tried so hard. We were both miserable, and he's going to be leaving soon. And I wish I didn't love him, but I do, more than I ever thought I would. I would have loved to be his wife, to have kids, to die with him there beside me. But it just wasn't meant to be. And some part of me will always love him. I hope he knows that.
There is a greater part of me that is relieved. Because as shitty as breaking up was, I feel that maybe now I can begin to heal. While I was with him, it was like the wounds from everything were simply getting reopened every day. But now I'm hoping I can mend, albeit slowly, but mend nonetheless. There is pain in letting go, but resolution in acceptance. And I think resolution is what I need now.
Michael and I broke up. It sucked ass. We both cried, and we didn't want to, but there was no other way to fix it; we had tried so hard. We were both miserable, and he's going to be leaving soon. And I wish I didn't love him, but I do, more than I ever thought I would. I would have loved to be his wife, to have kids, to die with him there beside me. But it just wasn't meant to be. And some part of me will always love him. I hope he knows that.
There is a greater part of me that is relieved. Because as shitty as breaking up was, I feel that maybe now I can begin to heal. While I was with him, it was like the wounds from everything were simply getting reopened every day. But now I'm hoping I can mend, albeit slowly, but mend nonetheless. There is pain in letting go, but resolution in acceptance. And I think resolution is what I need now.
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