There are times when I think that broken hearts are like the ghosts of Christmas past, but without the happy holiday connotations or piles of gifts. Broken hearts scare the shit out of you and teach you life lessons, but they haunt you without any hint of how long their odious presence will stick around. No one ever talks about the ghosts--they just ask if you're in therapy (hell yes). As always, the dirty work must be done alone, with no map of how to get out of the dungeon and back to the great outdoors.
I see myself get bogged down with the emotional detritus of last year and I hate it: the insecurity, the trust issues, the constant fear of being hurt and the anxiety that rears its head at the most inconvenient times.
I hate that when he says, "I need a night to myself," I hear "I'm sick of being with you." I hate that I tense up every time he gets a text message, or stays up IMing with a friend who happens to be female. It's an instinctual fear of being the last to know something that's blatantly obvious to everyone but me. I hate that I notice him noticing other women when we go out to dinner. I hate that it bothers me that he's still friends with most of his exes. I hate that I alternate between being empowered by and terrified of physical expressiveness.
It's oh so irrational and, often, hypocritical.
As always, there are no easy fixes. He can't do anything but be patient--I'm responsible for getting my shit together. Every day is another day in which I balance new happiness with countering the fear of getting hurt again. It's just that there are no guarantees, no absolutes. And just once, it would be nice to know that love is really a sure thing.
1 comment:
I completely understand.. what you wrote reminds me of.., well, of stuff I'd like to not think of anymore.
I hope it's a sure thing in the end. I really do.
Post a Comment