Tonight, I sat in my bed for four straight hours. I’d started getting “unready.” Keyword: “started.” My makeup never made it off of my face, and the only thing that changed was the fact that my pants went from my body to the floor. I just sat there. I sat there and I thought. In my 23 years, I’ve learned that thinking can be your best friend and your worst enemy all wrapped into one. I had everything on my mind — school, work, my past, my future. New relationships, old relationships. And they all clumped together and had me asking myself where I was going with all of it. And how they are all intertwined in one way or another. My brain was contorting a lot more than it’s used to. And I couldn’t handle it.
Tonight, I cried. I, myself, am unaware of the reason. I honestly thought today was going to be a good day. It was supposed to be. I was praying for it. My hair was freshly dyed, my outfit was cute, my eyebrows matched, and so did my socks. Today was supposed to conspire in my favor. But God or karma or mercury or a good combination of all three obviously thought otherwise. I couldn’t even tell you what went wrong in my day because I’m still not even sure. I just felt it. My heart felt it. Something was off. Something in my twisted little brain was spinning in circles like a carousel I couldn’t get off of. I needed to get out of my bed; out of my room. It was as cluttered as my thoughts and I needed to escape. And that’s what I did.
Tonight, I drove up to my secret space. The place I go to when I have writers’ block. The place I escape to when I don’t want to be apart of the world. It’s a place I’ve known about since middle school, and I’ve been going up to on my own since high school. You can see the whole city from here, east to west; north to south. It reminds me that no matter how big this glitter-bombed city is, all your problems are so minuscule compared to where it’s contained. To this day, and since I was 12, it still blows my mind that from somewhere so high up, you could still feel so grounded.
Tonight, I wiped my own tears. And although I wanted him there, I was absolutely fine. Sometimes it’s okay to cry and not know why. And sometimes it’s okay to be alone. Sometimes the only person you owe an explanation to is yourself. Sometimes you’re all you need.
What have you done to me? Just when I thought I broke out of the spell you had me under for five years, I turn around and find myself under a new one. And it’s still because of you. I thought I lost my ability to feel. I knew I could touch. But I thought I couldn’t feel. I’ve become so good at building force fields around myself, that if there are any feelings anywhere close to my vicinity, they would fly back like I’ve pushed them away with all the strength I have in my little arms. It was something I was proud of. It meant I couldn’t get hurt again. It meant I was safe.
And then he came along and swept me off my feet. And my force field was raised like a cloche from a plate. My safety blanket was gone and I felt it all. And I didn’t want to. I wanted him but I didn’t. I paved a road of self-discovery entirely on my own and I was still making my way down. And then he showed up on that road of mine. And I tried to swerve. But regardless, he was there. And I thought the road belonged to me. Only me. I’m too damaged to let anyone new in, no matter how bad I want them.
So this brings me back to the curse — either I don’t feel anything or I feel too much. I feel happiness and sorrow at the same time. I feel my heart beating faster and faster, but I feel it shattering simultaneously. It’s a dream and a nightmare, and I can’t decide if I want to wake up. Your curse is why I’m running away. It’s become so much more than getting to know myself. It’s turned into me not wanting to get to know anyone else, even more so when feelings get in the way. And now I’m torn between wanting to be loved and wanting to be left alone.
I loved him. But I didn’t love him the way I should have. Every piece of the puzzle that was my existence was broken, scattered, lost. My childhood dreams were swept under the rug while I tried everything in my power to keep my lover satisfied. My passions slowly vanished into thin air, as everything he wanted became everything I wanted. My life goals were put on hold, in fear that he would think I was being selfish, or that he would get bored of my same routine. But my routine stayed boring with every day I stuck to him. I lost everything to him. He consumed my every thought, my every dream, my every word. He was all I cared about. He took all my strength and all my energy.
And then I lost him.
I loved him. But I stopped loving myself. I lost who I was in 5 years. I had to rebuild — or rather, rediscover — who I was before he conquered my every decision. I am slowly but surely relighting my flame. The fire isn’t spreading quite as fast as I’d like it to, but there’s finally light in the room again.