We get taught at a young age one of two things. It’s okay to cry. To feel. To express our pain and fears in a healthy, natural, shameless way. That sometimes we need to let everything out, to find our way back to where we were before it all went wrong. And crying, that’s just a symptom of being human. It’s OKAY. Or, we get told that it’s not. That it is not okay to expose yourself to vulnerability, or demonstrate weakness. That you should be tough and take whatever it is life throws at you, and since that’s going to be a lot, you might as well go ahead and get use to it now. But don’t you dare cry about it. Two scenarios. Two completely different routes that will in fact define a person forever. I’m a firm believer in expressing emotion and truth over the alternative, and so should everybody else. But, many if not most don’t. We live in a cold world, where compassion is perceived as a weakness and being heartless is glorified. When in reality, it’s precisely the opposite. I never thought much of how much I cared before. About my family, my friends, complete strangers… it was just a given. Even when I went through my first break up and was completely heartbroken, or lost one of my oldest friends to a horrible accident, it never occurred to me to shut it off: my humanity. And I always say it as more of a movie concept than something people actually do, which is blocking out how they feel. But it’s real, and apparently I’m not a majority. What I assumed was hearts similar to mine, only a little misguided, are a lot more screwed up than that. Not everybody lives with the strive to be better, or to even be a good person. I always thought that deep down people were actually good at heart, and that anything bad they’ve done or continue to do isn’t really them. Just a version of who they are, a version that hurts less. People put up walls and burn bridges and do whatever it is they think they have to do to avoid the inevitable. And that is, if you’re human… if you have a beating heart with blood running through your veins, you are going to be victim to pain at some point in your life. Some levels of pain higher than others, and there will always be something in your life that destroys you. Usually, it’s what you love most. People do what they can to avoid this mathematically certainty. They fight it. They kick and scream and run as fast as they can to get away from anything that could force them to be apart of this tragic life. And that’s the ultimate tragedy. If you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. But if you have something to lose, someone you care about, it’s almost too paralyzing to imagine what we’ll do once it’s gone. I cried to my capacity tonight. I’m sure I had more in me but right now, it felt like enough. It’s funny, how we fight it. The tears, the agonizing pain. We either push it aside fiercely, or if you’re more like me, you can’t help but watch yourself drown in it. I come up for air, sure. But that’s only because I continue to swim. I continuing moving my arms, kicking my legs, and push to stay above water while I continue searching for land. After years of this, I’ve grown really tired. But I would rather be exhausted than say I ever copped out of how I feel or who I am. I don’t run, and I wish less people would do the same. I think if they did they would find more happiness. I emptied my tears, and I feel slightly rejuvenated. At the same time, I suspect the pain will creep up on me again when I least expect it. And I hope when it does it doesn’t destroy me. Then again, I was told once before that “it wouldn’t be love if it didn’t.” We have to allow some things to destroy us. We have to allow ourselves to fall apart and lose ourselves for a bit to truly discover who we really are and find our way to something better. I believe that. Even in all the darkness I believe that. I have to.
Alexithymia, it means difficulty describing emotions to others. It can also mean having difficulty feeling emotions at all. Well, I for one certainly have no problem with the latter, regrettably at times. But the first definition however, I identify all too well with. Most words are never ‘big’ enough for me, powerful enough. I could be saying everything I needed to, with every word being interpreted the way I intended, and I wouldn’t even know it because I’m always too busy beating myself up over the lack of clarity I’ve convinced myself that I’m providing. I need everything to sound as eloquent and brilliant as it does in my mind, where diction and vocabulary aren’t pressures. My thoughts run smoothly inside of me, but once they overflow outside the body, I hardly recognize them. They are never perfect, at least, not as they initially appeared to be. But I do believe a lot of the problem is my obsession with perfection. It’s one of the main reasons I never get anything done, and why I’m unable to find peace in anything I create. More often than not I always feel like I can do better. That I can word what I’m trying to say in such a way that it will without a doubt touch someone who needed to hear those exact words in the exact way that I composed them. I need for my words to mean something, instead of just collecting dust in my closet or sitting in a ‘drafts’ folder on my computer.
I’m saying all this because I think I finally found a notable comparison to how he makes me feel. I’ve tried time and time again to describe the feeling that comes with the pain of not being able to have someone beside you when you need them, or feeling completely helpless to get them to even answer you. There’s a silent and lonely desperation in reaching out to someone who only ignores you in return. I never feel in control when it comes to him, he simply does what he pleases. It’s very similar to being trapped in a prison cell. One that he passes by occasionally only to make sure that I’m still there, that I haven’t escaped. The cell’s bars allow me to see everything I can’t touch or control, so I observe. And I obsess. I’ve done this for nearly five years now. I’ve cried more times because of it than I have about anything else that has happened in my life. Dead relatives, dead friend, losing my home, never ending domestic issues… the list goes on, and the numbers simply don’t compare. I’ve been locked in a cell. But more recently that cell has begun to feel more and more like a casket. The walls are closing in, and there is very little room to breathe. There may even be some soil coming in through an unidentified hole filling in the empty spaces little by little. I say this because regardless of which metaphor you care to use or what language you prefer to say it in, the fact remains: I am trapped. I am in a dark and tightly enclosed box screaming at the top of my lungs and he hardly even flinches. He turns a blind eye to my suffering, just as he always has. And I’ve grown immune to many aspects of this pain. But once you’re being deprived of oxygen to the extent that you’re growing more and more afraid… immunity is no longer a relative term. I’m being buried alive. And in all honestly, I’m starting to get too tired to scream or fight anymore. The desperation and claustrophobia continues to worsen my anxiety and gives me more reason to self medicate, which I do. I sleep as much as a I can to remain elsewhere, and I numb myself when need be. I do what I have to do to not lose myself, to give up, or break down entirely. I’m buried alive… and I can hear him up above unknowingly shoveling the dirt.
My trampoline arrived and has finally been assembled. I enjoy the jumping of course, but in all honestly, I enjoy using it as my “sitting and thinking” spot even more. I know it’s probably a given to suggest that the human body is happier and even functions better out in nature, versus inside a building. The oxygen levels are a huge factor alone, if you want to look at it from a scientific standpoint. Or you could look at it as a place were psychological and spiritual freedom resides. I feel more powerful outside than I do inside, sometimes as though I can do the impossible or control the uncontrollable. I feel ten times more positive and alive outside, whereas inside I experience the negative and become reacquainted with symptoms of depression… sometimes feeling closed in and even trapped. That’s why I’ve been doing myself a favor by making myself go outside and stay outside more often, with consistent increases in lengths of time. Our addictions this generation falls slave to attempt to draw me back in, but I fight them off as much as I can. Because I don’t need to be sitting at my computer or watching the television. I also don’t need to lie in bed and sleep all day solely because I’m relying on my unconscious world to avoid being a part of this one. These actions won’t amount to anything beneficial for me, and it’s interesting how they all have one thing in common – where they’re being performed. We weren’t meant to have the limitations that the inside sets on our bodies and minds, we just weren’t.
I’ve been in a weird, dreamy mood all day. The kind of consciousness that feels somewhat fake, or like it’s someone else’s. I had a good cry after watching Grey’s Anatomy earlier, the show that single handedly made me aware of a thousand new perspectives and truths that sting, but are no less absolute. I’ve watched all the seasons, so I’m basically just watching them over again. It’s funny how he was so resistant to watching anything I suggested, unknowingly turning down a chance to see how deeply I felt for him, only scripted by someone else. The characters and their emotions aren’t just theirs, they’re ours too. That’s why people can’t get enough of these types of shows; they force us to feel even when we thought that was the last thing we wanted to do. I gave him another speech, without him actually being around to hear it. I watched my eyes sparkling ever so sad and lovely from the water lying on their surface, and listened to the desperation in my voice as I continued speaking to a mirror that would only reflect what I was projecting. In a way, it’s actually somewhat relieving. Sometimes you need to see yourself, really see yourself. And witness the sincerity in your soul, even if nobody else can. He exists in every line and epic moment I watch in these shows, unknowingly, as he continues to merely exist in a life standing still. And every time I exhaust myself trying to push it forward for him, he pushes back even harder. I like my trampoline, even it if took me twenty five years of living to finally get one. I don’t believe in age limits for the most part, especially if whatever it is you’re restricting yourself from, is something that has given you joy in the past. In my opinion, we need as many of those things back in our lives as we can get while we still can. I do enjoy this dream-like state, I try to savor it as it comes… because there’s just so much to discover in it. And in yourself.
I think one of the hardest concepts my mind tries countless times to wrap itself around, is how a person can love someone while at the same time treat them in a manner that appears as if they don’t think very much of them at all. It’s funny, when you think back on the days of grade school, when we were only just kids. Even then we had the concept ingrained in our minds that if someone of the opposite sex was mean or “picked on” us, that it indicated they actually liked you… as in more than just a friend. We at first fight this idea. Logically, it made no sense to us. Because really, why if the person liked me, would they want to do or say anything to make me believe otherwise? Seems a bit counterproductive. Then when we grow up a bit, we begin to recognize the psychology in it all. We can narrow it all down to fear in some way, shape, or form. If a 12 year old boy doesn’t want a girl to know he likes her, it’s because he’s scared of what he feels because A, he doesn’t understand it. B, he doesn’t want his friends to make fun of him. Or, C. He’s scared to find out that she may not feel the same way. These don’t change all that much even as we get older, they just become a little more complicated and messy. And by a little, I mean a lot more. I try all the time to understand how my gut somehow believes that he cares about me more than any other girl, while at the same time can act as if I mean nothing in the world to him. I really don’t think any amount of psychology can help when it comes to him, not even from a professional standpoint. His issues run deeper than most, and I’ve come to the realization that you simply can’t help people that won’t do anything to help themselves. Unfortunately, I have a difficult time living by that. Because I have an impossible time accepting that nothing can be done to change a situation. I see the potential, I picture the reality, and I see how simple it all could be… and suddenly, I begin to feel the most frustration and angst that I have ever felt in my life. People love to dig themselves into holes, take the scenic route on issues that should be dealt with head on, and burn bridges that should have been aggressively protected. And they love to waste time, lots and lots of time. I find myself struck with a sensation of pure terror every time I remember how little of it we have. And that feeling is what motivates me not to waste a single moment of it. But sadly, I do. There are plenty of other productive and worthwhile experiences I could take part in, but I’d say I probably only put in about 30/40 percent worth of effort to partake in them. I feel guilty about this all the time, even sick. But even more than that, the one thing I hate wasting more than anything else, and never would if given the chance, would be making the most out of the time with the person I love. Every body has different ideas of what happiness is, and what it will take to achieve it. I know happiness is a condition and not a destination, which many confuse it for. Those people also full heartedly believe that one specific thing will get them there. I know better, but am still inclined to believe that having that one person by your side can give you all the strength and ability to face anything else life throws your way. But I just can’t seem to let the idea of him die; the fantasies or the realities. Because I know he can be more than just a day dream. And I honestly don’t believe I would still feel the way I do after all this time if something inside of me didn’t think that was true. Five years of loving someone without anything in return, including mutual affection, is a long time. It’s a dark and lonely path that only becomes lighter during the far and few times he gives me hope. Unfortunately that hope always ends up being false… so why my rationale hasn’t overthrown my heart yet, I really don’t know. But a part of me deep down believes it’s because of that feeling I mentioned. The doubt is always there, and that’s because my trust in him is wearing thinner and thinner. It hurts to love him, but I go on doing it anyway.
Rewinding back to a week ago today. You could say that I wasn’t entirely shocked that I would end up spending this day alone, again. For the fifth year in a row to be exact. But who’s counting? There was a moment where I thought things may have been different this time, but per the usual, that moment never lasts longer than the impending holiday I was ignorantly fantasizing about. I mean, I haven’t heard from him since Christmas, where he blew me off and never even gave me the supposed present he said got for me, despite the fact that I had already given him his. So why would I think he’d come around a month and some change later with any kind of gesture for another holiday? One focused on love and romance, no less. But somehow my mind is convinced that dreaming about the possibility of something amazing happening is a lot better than focusing on how little chance there is of it actually happening. Maybe it’s self sabotaging, but I think if I gave up all hope entirely, the result of that would be much more lethal. Regardless, the day wasn’t as horrible as it could have been. I actually got up at a decent hour, ran some errands, and then went to a tanning salon. The one close to where I live was having a promotion for a free week of tanning and I figured, “seven days won’t give me skin cancer”, so why not?! At least I’ll get some color and look a little less like Casper the Ghost. However, I probably should have put on some actual sunscreen instead of just the bronzing lotion they gave me because well, let’s just say I was looking pretty lobster-like by the time the session ended. Luckily that all went down the next day, minus my chest area and the back of my legs. I did end up waiting two days before going back to the salon, just to be safe. But anyway, I also ate the candy my mom gave me. She always leaves something for my sister and I on holidays. For this one, it was a heart-shaped box of chocolates, a card, and heart-shaped balloon. I got some cleaning done as well. Overall, it was a decent day. Though now that I’ve replenished all those details, I can’t help but notice that I described what may be a decent day for any other day of the year… but not Valentine’s Day. Feeling a bit morbid right about now. BUT like I said, what can you do, right? It’s out of my control, just as plenty of other things are as well. Among which are a few that I just can’t seem to understand. Such as how easily people can treat other people as though they’re dispensable to them, like they mean nothing in the world… even when they mean everything. I opted not to go out on this day, despite the invitations I received. But the thing is, I’m not him. I can’t just distract myself with another person, friend or more. I could, but in all honesty the only reason I would be doing that would be for the purpose of making him jealous. It wouldn’t be for me. And really, that makes it rather pointless. Not to mention slightly pathetic. That’s why I stay home for the most part. I’ll go out and have a good time here and there sure, but I just can’t fool myself. I know too well that it mostly serves as a distraction from what is missing, or just a way of proving something to someone else. He on the other hand, clearly had no problem inviting someone to accompany him out that night. A “friend”, supposedly. But the deja vu was more than unsettling, and so was the feeling in my chest that lasted the rest of the night after discovering this fact via social media. I guess I should be thankful that most girls can’t help but document their every move, or else some things would remain hidden. That senseless dreaming I mentioned earlier, it really can be a blessing and a curse at times. I didn’t believe any of the romantic-prince-charming scenarios I pictured him doing would actually happen, but it’s just amazing how that realization wasn’t enough… it never is. Another Valentine’s Day spent alone, and a front row seat to him spending it with someone else. I could have done the same, but I’m not mad that I decided not to. Like I said, it wouldn’t have proven anything .If the time comes where I have to accept that me and him are never going to happen, I’ll be ready to move on when I’m ready to. And I won’t be doing it out of spite, jealousy, or desperation. It will be for me. I only wish I could say with full confidence that I truly believe that will happen, but I guess we all face doubt that runs this deep at least once in our lives. Feeling that strongly for someone after all this time, sometimes it full heartedly makes me believe that those feelings will never truly go away. You may be able to hide them, or even forget about them for a while… even years. But somehow, the moment you see that person again, something happens. Something overwhelmingly familiar. Something consuming. There are few things that hold such power over us in this world, where we find ourselves losing our own self control and logic. And those are the most impossible things to leave behind… even when we really should. And that is because despite all the things it may not have been, the one thing it was, was real.