Sometimes my thoughts fill my brain up so much that I feel like I can't breathe without bumping into something.
So I decide to write. Even though no one even reads blogs anymore, it's a way for me to empty my head a little. Watch thoughts and feelings trickle out and turn from something messy into something tangible. I love hearing the sound the keys make as I pour these thoughts out. Each strike feels like relief.
So what's on the agenda tonight? What is keeping me awake? What is causing this mind claustrophobia? Well the easiest answer would just be "me" but nothing that comes to "me" is ever easy.
Tonight I took a brief but powerful walk down memory lane. A time about 5 years ago when I felt truly alive and free. The walk started off breezy. Like stepping outside on the first day of Spring. Everything is thawing and coming alive. In the middle of this walk I ran into a massive boulder and getting around that boulder was painful and difficult and took that first day of Spring feeling and shot it right into Canadian January. I felt cold. Empty. Strange.
About 5 years ago I started coming into my own. I started going to therapy. I started figuring out how to love myself. I fell in love with someone else. My best friend. I started slowly. I didn't race into it like I usually do everything else in my life, maybe that's why it felt like it would be real. It was what everyone says it will be. It was electric and powerful and made me feel completely free in a way I had never felt before. I spent nights with him as we poured the deepest and most secret parts of ourselves out to show each other. I spent days with him driving in the sun with the windows down. Music on the radio, knowing it would take at least 20 minutes to get all the knots out of my hair from the wind, but not caring because he would take those blue eyes and look right into mine while we talked. Warsan Shire has a quote that says "His eyes were the same color as the sea in a postcard someone sends you when they love you, but not enough to stay". And that's what he was. He was so real and so tangible - but he was like the ocean. Floating in and out. Sometimes drifting away, barely reaching your toes in the sand. Other times overwhelming you and taking your breath away with the force of it. I wrote letters to him. I kept them in a box in my closet. A place to keep all the words I didn't know how to say to him, childishly thinking that we didn't need those words. That what we had was so special and so unique - convention would ruin it. It turns out there were so many words we needed. He hurt me. Over and over again. Just like the sea he would float away and come crashing back in with a storm. I could never figure out what he wanted but when he was there I didn't care. I just wanted him. His laugh in my living room. His name on my phone. His Jeep motor coming to pick me up for some random adventure. I allowed myself to give in completely to this crazy messy and insane feeling because...it was him. The times he was floating away I would cling onto the good memories. The ones of us texting rap lyrics to each other, the times when we would sing power ballads at the top of our lungs together, the Chinese food and bad 80's movie nights. I thought those were enough. But it wasn't. So when he left for good - I was left hollow and empty. The memories no longer filled me with warmth but instead they made me curl up against myself. Feeling my bones to make sure I was still a human. Crying so hard I ached. Staring at the wall when there were no more tears left.
I still remember the first date I went on after he was gone. I remember the sound of my fake laugh. Looking out the window of the restaurant just in case he happened to be walking by. Wondering if he would be hurt to see me with someone else. "I had a great time - do it again sometime?" came the text the next day. "I just didn't feel anything between us" was the response. Maybe because I didn't feel anything at all.
So here I am 5 years later. I've tried giving myself to others. I even consistently dated someone for awhile. He would compliment me endlessly on how beautiful he thought I was. He loved that I made him laugh. I was like a quirky puzzle that he was interested in solving. There were things he didn't like about me. My love of murder, the fact that I was a vegetarian, and the tiny detail of the fact that he felt like I was disconnected. That I wasn't really giving him very much but pretending to. I acted outraged but the fact was - he was right. Quirky puzzles get tiring when you can't solve them. Another one bites the dust.
I continue trying. I hop on those dating apps and I swipe and swipe. I laugh at dumb jokes. I flirt mindlessly. I try desperately to form a connection before realizing I'm playing pretend.
So tonight the biggest heaviest thought, the one sucking the air out of my lungs is "Can I even connect with someone again?". Are none of these guys right? Or am I just all wrong? Am I looking for something unrealistic? Am I secretly comparing every relationship to the one with him? Is that ok? The good parts were so good. They were everything I ever wanted. Is it possible to find that again with someone who stays? I certainly haven't found that to be true. So I continue to talk and flirt and try to connect all while looking for the next one. Wondering if the really good thing is just around the corner. But what if I keep looking around that corner and find nothing. I keep running and running and just run right into myself. How do I determine if there really is something better out there or if I'm just so irreversibly screwed up that I should just give up now. Or do I lower my expectation? Do I settle for someone good who doesn't make me feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest everytime I see his name on my phone. Is it still real if the sound of his voice saying my name doesn't make me want to cry it sounds so nice? Do you only get one chance at that feeling?
It's 2:49 now. My head feels lighter. My heart feels heavier. I don't miss him. I don't think about him at all really anymore. I'm a different person. My favorite songs are different. I have a new favorite color of blue that doesn't resemble his eyes at all. Even my hair is different. There is nothing left of the girl who was willing to give everything to him. Who was ready to let love take her and hurt her over and over.
And maybe that is the problem. There is nothing left.
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